


The Bachelors

by bradleymartin, emmadecody



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (knowledge of The Bachelor not required), Alternate Universe - The Bachelor, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Yuri Plisetsky, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Viktor is basically the male Taylor Swift, background MichEmil, levels of angst vary wildly among the three couples, only Otabek and Leo are still skaters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-11-06 02:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 83,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bradleymartin/pseuds/bradleymartin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadecody/pseuds/emmadecody
Summary: On this season ofThe Bachelor, the hero of Kazakhstan and World gold medal-winning figure skater, Otabek Altin, is looking forsponsorslove.





	1. the lights and boys are blinding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on _The Bachelor_ , but you don’t need to be familiar with the show to understand or enjoy the fic.

**Sunday**

“I can’t believe you agreed to it,” Emil says conversationally. Or, at least, in a way that _would_ seem conversational if it weren’t for the fact that Otabek has been stuck in this mansion for a week, so by now he knows the score. He can see the three cameras surrounding him, can feel the makeup on his face, and is blinded by the lights glaring down at him. He’s been poked and prodded and shaved and fitted into all-new clothes. He’s received dozens of eyerolls from the producers for his — so deemed by the crew — ‘monosyllabic mouth’ and has been coached day in and day out to _look at the camera more_ , _emote more_ , and _give us something to work with Goddammit_.

Emil is still looking at him expectantly, and he reaches out and straightens Otabek’s tie. He likes Emil more than he likes most people running around. Emil seems harmless, especially compared to the producers, and is teeming with fun that never quite reaches Otabek — especially in an environment like this. But Otabek can recognize a leading question when he hears one. He sees Emil look at one of the cameras that Otabek is steadfastly ignoring.

“Yeah, well,” Otabek finally says. _We can’t read your mind_ , he can almost hear Minako shouting from the control room. He’s never _been_ to the control room, but he certainly envisions computer monitors with the producers gathered around — looking at the live camera footage of _him_ and probably yelling at the screen.

The control room is expressly off-limits. Limitations — especially of the _express_ variety — don’t really scare Otabek, but this particular room seems to be in some sort of Bermuda Triangle location so he’s never succeeded in finding it on the couple of occasions he’s been bored enough to halfheartedly try.

The producers give him _looks_ when he wanders around the mansion, which have only started to scare him because sometimes one of them will pull him aside and start a fresh round of interviews prodding into subjects like his family and _especially_ his romantic history — and they seem freshly frustrated every time that none of his previous relationships ended in big explosions or shattered hearts. He really thinks they ought to be used to hearing the same stories every time, but they seem freshly optimistic every day that he might have a dark past he’s hiding, and he’s quick to dispel their misconceptions.

Emil leans forward and whispers in his ear, “You’re _The Bachelor_. Try to look happier about it or they’re going to come up here and wring _my_ neck. And _talk_ to you. And trust me, you’ve never seen Minako or Mila truly unleashed.” That friendly, conspiratorial tone and those giant blue eyes make it hard to doubt his words.

Otabek gazes at him for another few seconds before half-smiling. It feels forced — and he’s sure it _looks_ forced — but he did sign the next ten weeks of his life away. Willingly. And it _had_ been willing, even if he sometimes forgets it at times like this, when he’s standing here waiting for the first limousine full of men to show up. There’s something so surreal about it that it feels like it must be a dream.

He’s never watched _The Bachelor_ before, but he’s had quite a crash-course in the last week. It’s the twenty-second season of the show, and the executive producer, Minako, seemed to imply that she all but signed her soul away to the networks to get the first-ever gay bachelor.

Of course he appreciated any attempts at equality. When he had first been approached by the show, he certainly hadn’t believed them. He was riding high from winning gold at Worlds, all too aware of his advanced age and the upcoming Olympics. When his manager assured him that the offer was legitimate one, he’d dismissed it just as quickly. Only that impassioned speech from Minako herself — at a meeting his manager had all but conned him into — made him consider it. Of course he understood the significance that the representation a gay Bachelor would bring, but he didn’t see why it had to be _him_. Especially with equally out athletes like Leo de la Iglesia around.

Then it was two weeks of his manager pushing for him to relax and go on the show, seeing the number of households the show reached, realizing that the Olympics weren’t far away and he didn’t have as much sponsorship as he needed. Maybe he went insane for a minute and that’s why he finally agreed.

He still isn’t quite sure.

He thinks he might live to regret it.

Something about standing in front of this huge mansion waiting for a carload of strangers is beginning to feel like _too much_. Way too much.

“So even you get nervous,” Emil says.

Otabek stares at him, almost letting out a laugh. He’s a professional figure skater — he’s been to Worlds seven times and the Olympics twice. He’s been nervous before, and this is nothing in comparison. Something about that wide, ultra-white grin spread across Emil’s face calms him.

“Here’s the thing, bro,” Emil says, apparently adept at carrying on conversations that are more than a little one-sided, “you’re really supposed to say something about how excited you are to meet your future husband.”

Otabek feels his eyebrows raise. Emil’s smile is apologetic but his eyes are laser-focused on him. Otabek takes a deep breath and says, trying and probably failing to sound sincere, “It’s insane to think I could be meeting the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

Emil tilts his head to the side as if to say, _Is that really all you’ve got?_ Then his eyes lose focus and Otabek assumes that he’s listening to something in his headset. Another second and he’s focused on Otabek again. “Two minutes,” he says. “Look, Altin, they’re going to hug you, so you might want to lose your tough guy crap and try to make everyone feel welcome. It really is easier that way.”

There’s something almost ominous about that, which isn’t helped when Emil disappears behind the spotlights. Otabek is momentarily blinded just trying to look for him. They haven’t gotten _that_ close, Otabek tells himself, but Emil feels like a lifeline when all that’s in front of him is the unknown.

Okay, so maybe he’s more nervous at competitions, but he’s never been quite _this_ kind of nervous before — helpless and floundering and completely out of his element. There’s no competition here, no time limit, no skill set he can master to pull himself through this. Just producers he doesn’t particularly trust and cameras that he’s sure are going to catch every little mistake he makes.

Not to mention the fact that he’s barely ever been able to keep _one_ man happy, let alone a full _dozen_ of them.

He looks up at the sound of the car, staring expectantly at the tinted windows. He tries to make his face look full of excitement rather than the dread he’s feeling, but he’s not sure how well he’s succeeding. The door opens — everything feels like it’s in slow motion, like a horror movie or something — and out steps the first contestant. He’s in a simple dark grey suit, his bright yellow tie the only thing noteworthy about him until he steps close enough for Otabek to really see him.

Otabek almost laughs in relief. He _recognizes_ him. He’s a fellow figure skater, Leo, and he’s a friendly — if passing — acquaintance for the last several years. He’s only a couple years younger than Otabek’s twenty-five — they’re two of the older hangers-on. He gives Otabek a wide grin and nearly runs up to him. He stops just short of him and pauses for half a second before throwing his arms around Otabek and pulling him into a hug. Otabek tries to at least lean into it, but his lukewarm response doesn’t seem at all to discourage Leo. When he pulls back, Leo still has that grin on his face.

“I never expected to see you here,” Otabek says, amusement lacing his tone. He feels relaxed for the first time in days.

“I couldn’t let you be the only skater taking a vacation.”

“Vacation,” Otabek repeats, scoffing. He can’t think of anything less relaxing than this.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Otabek cracks a half-smile, and he watches Leo walk off. He knows not everything is going to be that easy.

Sure enough, the next man to step out of the limo is enough to make Otabek freeze. Otabek barely notices anything other than the man’s blond hair before he sees that this guy isn’t even wearing a _shirt_. He’s bare-chested and just wearing a dark red blazer. Otabek is more than a little horrified, but manages to compose himself by the time the man gets closer. Once Otabek focuses on him, he sees a wide, seductive grin on his face. He lets the man pull him into another hug — resisting his every instinct screaming that he should flinch away — uncomfortable with the way his hands dip a little farther than necessary, almost to Otabek’s ass.

Otabek pulls back first, staring into hazel eyes. “I’m Christophe Giacometti,” the man practically purrs, “but you can call me Chris.”

“Otabek Altin,” he says, sounding — and feeling — even more stiff than usual.

That doesn’t deter Chris from leaning forward as if to kiss his cheek, but instead he just whispers in his ear, “I look forward to getting to know you.” He squeezes Otabek’s shoulder, then walks off into the mansion.

Otabek looks around for Emil, deterred immediately by the blinding lights. Instead he finds himself giving his panicked look straight into the camera. _Well_ , he thinks, _at least somewhere the producers are probably happy I finally showed them an expression._

***

It’s been hell.

Yuri got to Los Angeles four days ago. He promptly had his phone taken away — something he expected — and then was settled into a hotel room with no key — something he was _not_ expecting. It occurred to him far too late that the only fine print in his contract that he’d paid attention to was the line about only being able to bring two suitcases, which he’d successfully negotiated up to four.

He endured four days of forced captivity, where he could only talk to Mila or one of the lower-rung producers — all of whom quickly learned to be scared of him — and with nothing to distract him other than his sketchbook and a TV. It felt like a prison after a while. He racked up quite a room service bill, on the show’s dime — it was the only revenge he could think of other than verbally abusing its employees — but after about the fourth slice of cheesecake, he started hating himself and spent the rest of the time vigorously working out. He even managed to talk them into letting him have the gym for an hour instead of just a half-hour, which was a small victory but enough to keep him somewhat sane.

Then he was shoved into a limo, finally getting a look at the other contestants.

Which is exactly why he’s the first one _out_ of the limo.

He barely waits for it to come to a halt before throwing the door open and jumping out. Behind him, he can hear laughing from that insufferable jackass with the stupid French name. They spent all of twenty-five minutes together in that car — and with four other people who theoretically should’ve diffused the situation — but even that was enough to make Yuri want to throttle him. He barely even heard the others’ names.

He slams the door behind him — anything to cut off that fucker’s laugh — and he realizes he’s been so annoyed that he temporarily forgot where he was. When he sees the Bachelor — _Otabek Altin_ , he reminds himself — standing in front of the mansion, his hands automatically go to his jacket to straighten it. All Yuri can tell from this distance is that Otabek looks pretty normal in a black suit, no tie. Yuri, as always, looks anything _but_ normal, wearing black dress pants but with a jacket of his own design; it’s leopard print, like so many of his creations, but dark red on black. From far away, you can barely tell it’s patterned at all. At Yuuko’s insistence, Yuri reluctantly decided to go with one of his more normal outfits, at least for the first day.

_There’s nothing to worry about_ , he tells himself as he takes a deep breath, _you’re just here for a few episodes so that all these stupid Americans know about your fashion line. Then it’s back to Moscow._

He strides forward, knowing that he’s projecting nothing but confidence. The driveway is wet even though Yuri knows it hasn’t rained anytime in the four days he’s been in this shithole of a city — plus he’s pretty sure he’s heard that there’s a _drought_ going on, how fucking wasteful. The lights blaze down on him. But he tries to ignore all that as he impatiently pulls his long hair over one shoulder.

He pauses just in front of Otabek. The people in the car with him and some old hag producer named Mila had mentioned _hugging_ , but Yuri isn’t here to listen to orders. So instead he just sticks out his hand for Otabek to shake.

That’s when he finally gets a good look at him.

Otabek is a couple inches shorter than him, but definitely not short. His black hair is styled in an undercut, which Yuri normally isn’t a huge fan of, but it looks good on him. Otabek just looks good in general — handsome face, nice eyebrows, dark brown eyes that are staring straight at him. Yuri had disinterestedly watched a few YouTube videos of his skating that Yuuko had forced him to watch with her — and obviously any video of anyone winning a world championship is going to be objectively impressive — but by the time Yuuko switched to videos of Otabek’s interviews, Yuri had been long gone.

One corner of Otabek’s mouth twitches upwards as he reaches out to shake Yuri’s hand. But the expression is gone as quickly as it came, leaving Yuri to wonder if he’d imagined it.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” he says.

“Otabek Altin.”

Yuri finally tugs his hand away. “I know,” he says without thinking.

There’s that expression on Otabek’s face again — and this time Yuri is sure it’s real.

“See you around,” he says. It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s all he can think of. Otabek nods.

Most people annoy Yuri, but he can’t help but think that he might not mind Otabek.

Yuri walks into the mansion and easily follows the noise to the next room. There are cameras in here, too — Yuri gives one of them a furious glare for no real reason — and five men lounging around. Quickly, a guy who smiles too much ( _Leo_ , he helpfully repeats to Yuri a few seconds after telling him the first time) introduces everyone in the group, seeming proud of himself for remembering. Guang Hong, Chris, Seung-gil, and Michele are their names. None of them are particularly memorable for Yuri, except maybe the guy named Chris because he looks like a perv without a shirt on.

But Yuri listens through it all, trying not to look too bored as he sits down. If nothing else, it’s better than being stuck in that hotel room. He leans back, wishing he had his phone. He just imagines everything he could be texting Yuuko right now — he can think of twenty complaints about every single one of these people, and that isn’t even factoring in the conservative one thousand complaints he could lodge against that Canadian douchebag from the car.

“You must know him,” Michele is saying to Leo quietly. “You’re a skater, too, right?”

Leo grins. “Yeah, we know each other. Not _super_ well or anything.”

That’s the exact moment Yuri stops listening And the worst part is, all the conversations around him are like that. It doesn’t get any better when the contestants from his car start funneling in. First that annoying kid named Minami comes in — who, Yuri can’t exactly deny, must be at least a year or two _older_ than him, because Yuri turned twenty-one all of three weeks ago, and that’s the minimum age to be here. Probably because of the endless champagne that keeps appearing on trays in front of them.

Then that guy named Phichit appears, wielding a digital camera, which Yuri didn’t know was allowed. He launches into an explanation of the camera to Yuuri when he comes in next, and Yuuri has the decency to look interested — or maybe he’s _genuinely_ interested, it occurs to Yuri a few seconds later, the thought making him feel a little queasy.

He sighs and takes a swig of champagne. If he has to be bored and miserable, he might as well drink.

***

“Jean-Jacques Leroy,” he says, grinning. “But you can call me JJ.”

“Otabek Altin.” Otabek tries to force his expression into something that might be considered a smile. But something about JJ’s smile and those grey eyes are a little off-putting. Otabek tries to tell himself that he’s just being irrational, and he leans into the hug that JJ forces upon him. He’s relieved, if nothing else, that JJ is the eleventh contestant that he’s met, so there’s only one more.

When JJ pulls back, he slides something into Otabek’s hand. Otabek looks down at a small leaf-shaped bottle of maple syrup. “I’m Canadian,” he says, laughing a little too loudly. “We’re a mining family, but this was a little easier to travel with.”

“Oh,” Otabek responds, sounding lame even to himself, but that doesn’t seem to deter JJ at all; his grin doesn’t change as he walks into the mansion.

He’s momentarily distracted as a P.A. comes up and whisks away the bottle of syrup, and by the time he looks up, the limo is pulling away. His eyebrows raise; he’s shocked, having expected the limo to have the final contestant. He considers turning around and — fruitlessly, he’s sure — looking for another producer.

Then he hears another car.

He looks up. This one isn’t a limo at all, but a _very_ fancy sports car. Cars certainly aren’t Otabek’s forte, but he thinks it’s a Maserati. It screeches to a halt in the driveway, and the final contestant gets out of the car, his back to Otabek as he tosses the keys to some unseen producer.  

But Otabek _can_ see his shock of silver hair. Even Otabek, who spends the majority of his time deeply immersed in training halfway across the world, knows that hair. And then the contestant turns around and meets his eyes, which only confirms what Otabek already knew.

Otabek feels his mouth drop open. Even though it’s never worked before, he turns to where he thinks Emil is and throws a panicked look. He _must_ be seeing things. Because there’s no way—

But the man glides forward and stops in front of Otabek with a smile on his face. Otabek still can’t help but gape.

Because it’s Viktor.

_Viktor_.

Just Viktor. Famous enough to be single-name _Viktor_ , one of the biggest pop stars in the world.

There’s no way in hell Viktor should be here.

Otabek briefly considers that maybe this is some sort of elaborate prank that he somehow fell under. He read his contract and his coach read his contract and his manager read it and his manager’s lawyer and the lawyer asked one of the American lawyers he knew — basically, _everyone_ read Otabek’s contract before he signed it. But the chance that something has gone horribly wrong seems entirely too possible to Otabek. Because there’s no version of reality where a famous singer like _Viktor_ should be standing in front of him.

And _hugging him_.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov,” he says, unnecessarily.

“Um,” Otabek says. He doesn’t have a particularly strong feeling about Viktor’s music but it’s still surreal for him to be standing here in front of him. “I’m Otabek Altin.” _Why are you here?_ he almost asks. But instead he just lets Viktor’s hand slide off his shoulder and down his arm. Then Viktor is gliding into the mansion, just like everyone else has.

Otabek is still shocked — but finally able to compose himself — by the time Emil finally emerges from his hiding place behind the lights.

“Well, a good group,” Emil says, the smile playing on his lips looking dangerously close to turning into a smirk.

“So _that’s_ why the show is airing week-to-week,” Otabek says, everything dawning on him at once. When he had signed on for the show, he found it odd that they weren’t filming everything months in advance like they usually do — but rather with only one week of delay. He had been told that it was because of him and another figure skater (who he now realizes was Leo) were too much in the public eye. But now it’s very obvious that Viktor probably can’t walk outside without a million photographers surrounding him.

“What?”

“ _Viktor_ ,” Otabek says, almost raising his voice. “ _Viktor_ just _shook my hand_.”

“Are you a fan?”

“Emil,” he says flatly; they both know that isn’t relevant.

“Fine,” Emil says, a good-natured grin back on his face as quickly as it left. “Yes, Viktor signing on for the show made the week-to-week schedule necessary.”

“Why isn’t _he_ the Bachelor?”

Emil flashes a smile that gives nothing away. “The answer to that question is above my paygrade.”

Otabek lets out a quiet sigh and looks back towards the mansion, feeling even more unnerved. He realizes that this season of _The Bachelor_ is going to bring in record numbers, and all eyes are going to be focused on him, whether or not they came for Viktor.

“You look nervous,” Emil says. He leans in, and Otabek doesn’t realize that he’s at Otabek’s ear until it’s too late. “Give the camera something, Altin.”

Otabek looks behind him and sees one of the producers, Sara, approach with narrowed eyes. So he focuses on Emil again and says, “Everyone seems amazing — it’s overwhelming, to be honest. I guess — I guess that I can’t, uh, wait to get to know everyone tonight.”

***

Yuuri thinks that everything could certainly be going worse.

Otabek seems like a thoroughly decent man — Yuuri didn’t come here to fall in love, but he appreciates that the Bachelor certainly seems _normal_. It’s a nice surprise, since from the little that he’s seen and heard of this show, normal is usually the farthest thing from what goes on. His sister regaled him with several horror stories, and Yuuri thinks she might have been holding back.

Then the room goes dead silent.

He had been talking to a man who politely reminded him that his name is Phichit, but Phichit goes silent when everyone else does, staring at something just past Yuuri’s shoulder. His grey eyes bug out and his hands go for his camera as though he isn’t even consciously thinking about it.

Yuuri turns around, mouth falling open instantaneously.

_Viktor_.

“Viktor?”

The word is ripped from him — he doesn’t even realize that he’s said it until several sets of eyes give him a quick look. But no one stays focused on him for long; why would they, when silver-haired, perfect Viktor is standing right there?

Yuuri has been listening to Viktor’s music since that first album — _Viktor_ — came out twelve years ago. As a young gay kid, Viktor’s music spoke to Yuuri in a way nothing else had. It’s been over a decade and four more albums, but Yuuri was still just as big of a fan. He can’t even bring himself to remove all the Viktor posters that still litter the walls of his childhood bedroom.

And now that same Viktor is _standing ten feet in front of him_.

Someone groans, and Yuuri glances over to see Yuri looking completely unimpressed, sipping his champagne idly.

_Act normal, act normal_ , his brain screams at him.

“Like, _the_ Viktor?” Michele asks, taking a step forward.

Viktor glances around before that trademark grin comes over his face. “The very same,” he says smoothly, reaching his hand out. Michele shakes it, looking a little unimpressed.

“Cool,” Leo says, giving an earnest grin.

Then another man rushes in, his suit navy blue and his beard neatly trimmed. His smile is wide and he’s followed by a camera. Yuuri realizes that he’s the host of the show, but it takes a great deal of effort to pull his eyes away from Viktor. He’s gone to two concerts — one of which involved a _long_ flight — but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would be standing in a room waiting to compete for some guy’s affections against _Viktor_.

“I’m Emil Nekola,” the host says. “And it’s time for our first cocktail party.” He walks across the room and throws open the set of French doors on the far side of the room. The back lawn is set in sparkling lights, with sofas and tables everywhere. Servers are standing around with trays of champagne flutes and appetizers. “Everyone will have a chance to speak with our Bachelor. But in the meantime, enjoy the party.”

***

Yuuri Katsuki is the first man set next to Otabek. Sara gives them a warm smile, but Yuuri looks a far less at ease, throwing her a panicked look over his shoulder before turning to face Otabek on the sofa.

They’re in the back of the mansion, and endless champagne is being passed around. Otabek isn’t very adept at mingling or small talk, so he was briefly grateful when the other producer, Mila, grabbed his arm and pulled him to this secluded sofa. He sipped at the bourbon in his hand — the drink was forced upon him despite all protests — glad for the relative quiet. Then Yuuri was brought to him, his name supplied by Mila whispering it in his ear before gliding off back to the rest of the contestants.

Otabek turns to Yuuri, relieved at least that he gets to start with someone who isn’t intimidating. Yuuri gives him a soft smile and then opens his mouth at the exact second Otabek does. He gives a nervous laugh and Otabek says, “After you.”

He looks more relaxed after that. He tells Otabek about growing up in a town in Japan called Hasetsu.

“Never heard of it,” Otabek says, feeling more at ease as Yuuri does. They’re both leaning back into the couch now. Otabek can’t see the cameras unless he looks away from Yuuri, so he steadfastly keeps eye contact as Yuuri talks. The lights are still harsh, but he’s been at this mansion long enough that it’s beginning to almost seem normal.

“Have you heard of Utopia?”

Otabek thinks for a second. “It sounds familiar.”

“It’s a line of luxury hotels and spas — my family’s business. They’ve been around in Japan since before I was born, and when I was growing up, my parents launched several in major cities in Europe. Now that I’m older, I’m going to try to expand into America.” There’s a small, proud smile on his face. “They’re _really_ nice. Next time you have a competition in a city where one is located, you _have_ to stay there, on me.”

Otabek half-smiles, opening his mouth to answer, but then Sara appears behind Yuuri, tapping his shoulder. “We got what we needed,” she says, throwing a smile at Otabek. “Sorry, but we really have to keep things moving tonight.”

Otabek watches as Yuuri is whisked away, and then a man with the same violet eyes as Sara plops down next to him. He tosses a look over his shoulder at Sara, something Otabek thinks would be more fitting on a petulant child. Even though Otabek doesn’t particularly want to be here either, it makes the unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach get a little worse.

“Michele Crispino,” Mila says from behind him, and he flinches a bit, not having realized that she was there.

_Crispino_ , Otabek thinks, looking straight into Michele’s violet eyes, realizing a second too late that he must be Sara’s brother. That would also explain the uncomfortable stance and the way his eyes are focused intently over Otabek’s shoulder right where he thinks Sara is standing.

As if to prove his point, Sara says, “Talk.”

Michele flushes. “I’ve seen you skate,” he says stiffly. “You’re really amazing.”

Otabek wants to shrug off the compliment — he’s never been good at receiving them, and especially from someone who isn’t part of the sport. “Thanks,” he says, feeling obligated. There’s another awkward pause; Otabek can hear a small, frustrated sigh behind him. Then, a burst of inspiration: “Tell me about your family.”

Inspiration, indeed. Michele lights up, turning the full force of his brilliantly white smile on Otabek. Just like that, the awkwardness between them melts and Michele talks about his sister Sara — his _twin_ , he says with pride in his tone, almost reverence. Otabek tries not to read anything into it, but he certainly isn’t used to people being so enthusiastic about their siblings.

Otabek has two sisters. He’s on very good terms with both of them, but that’s about all he gets to say before Michele launches into a story of the one time Sara tried to skate and nearly fell through the ice.

Sara interrupts them, then, a faint blush on her cheeks. There’s a hard set to her face, and Otabek wonders idly if she’s embarrassed by the stories. Michele stands slowly, reaching for Otabek’s hand. For half of a horrified second, Otabek thinks he’s going to bring the hand to his lips, but he just holds it for moment before letting it drop.

Someone launches onto the couch, not more than five seconds after Michele leaves. Otabek looks over, startled, but then sees that it’s Leo. He gives a half-smile for Leo’s wide grin. Leo props his leg up on the couch, fully turning his body to face him. In the distance, Otabek can vaguely make out one of the camera operators shuffling to the side.

“Nice to see you off the ice,” Leo says — as always, his voice holding nothing but good-natured sincerity. “What the hell are you _doing_ here?”

“Looking for love.” The lie gets easier every time. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Chasing after you.” One of his eyebrows quirks upwards.

Otabek feels himself stiffen a little at that, and that’s all it takes for Leo to burst into laughter.

“Relax, bro,” he says once he finally catches his breath. “I’m mostly kidding.”

_Mostly_. The word echoes around Otabek’s head, but he feels himself pulling his hand away as Leo starts to reach towards him. He can hear some noise of disapproval behind him — he’s heard one million lectures from both Mila and Sara that he needs to respond to _any_ and _all_ displays of physical affection inflicted upon him. But Leo doesn’t seem particularly fazed by it, instead launching into a recap of last year’s Worlds, which Otabek joins in with as much eagerness as he can manage.

***

There’s not a particular _reason_ to feel out of place.

But he does.

Viktor’s impulsive decision to join the show a mere two weeks ago was met with a great deal of skepticism from both his sister Mila and his parents. And his manager. And the only one of his exes who he’s still on good terms with. And every member of the cast and crew who have been staring at him like a mirage since the moment he walked on set. Sure, he likes making an entrance, but everyone’s reactions make him feel more like he dropped an atomic bomb than anything else.

Even _he_ can’t fully put into words why he came on this show. He knows as well as everyone else that he’s _way_ too famous to be on this show. He knows that Otabek and Leo and even Yuri Plisetsky are already overly impressive pedigree for this show. Before now, what was considered the most impressive contestant was the unsuccessful brother of Aaron Rodgers. Viktor is on a wildly different playing field, and he can’t help but be aware of that.

Painfully aware.

The other contestants are milling around, talking and getting to know each other. Phichit approached him for a selfie and Viktor acquiesced politely, but Phichit moved on as quickly as he came, seemingly checking everyone off of an imaginary roster. Viktor doesn’t mind him leaving, but he can’t help but feel the lack of company.

When he told his parents that he was going on the show, they acted like he was sure to win, a ridiculous assumption when they’d seen every single one of his previously relationships — which, yes, were so numerous that ‘numerous’ was an understatement — burn fast and furious and then burn out just as quickly. He supposes that maybe some people would find it a foregone conclusion that he was to be a frontrunner — after all, he is _famous_ , an obvious choice for a man who’s after money or fame. He doesn’t know much of Otabek, but he knows enough to realize that he surely isn’t long for the world of this show.

And that’s fine. Viktor is always looking for love but it’s been such a long, fruitless search that he’s learned that it’s foolish to have expectations. Of course, one look at his albums would prove that knowing it’s foolish has never once stopped him from expecting the best. Hoping for best. Fighting for the best. Crying and being pissed when things don’t work out.

Having the head of a realist and the heart of an optimist has gotten him in plenty of trouble over the years.

He sighs and picks up his drink — vodka on the rocks, as always — and makes up his mind to talk to _someone._ He walks over to the other person standing alone who’s closest to him. He’s a fairly good-looking Japanese guy (to be fair, _everyone_ is varying degrees of beautiful) whose name is completely escaping Viktor at the moment. His suit is _horrible_ — especially that _tie_ — but Viktor tries not to let that deter him as he approaches.

The guy notices when Viktor sets his drink down, and he looks up, startled. When he meets Viktor’s eyes, his expression quickly shifts to what Viktor could only describe as abject horror.

“Um,” the guy says, eyes impossibly wide. Then he mumbles something in what Viktor assumes is Japanese and suddenly he’s long gone, fleeing back to the mansion and disappearing through the doors.

Viktor sighs and shrugs, masking his annoyance with the same small, serene smile that he’s perfected over the years. He turns around and sees Yuri looking bored and annoyed — which is true of every party Viktor has seen him at over the last couple years — and thinks about going in for the kill, but then a short kid approaches. It takes him a full three seconds to realize he’s a fellow contestant and not a P.A.

He reaches languidly for his proffered hand. “Remind me of your name,” he says smoothly, taking another sip of his drink.

At least he’s not alone anymore.

***

The champagne is good.

Yuri has had a few glasses. He’s waiting impatiently for his turn with Otabek, but instead he sees the producers subtly pluck other men out of the crowd and pull them over. It feels like something straight out of a horror movie. There’s a spotlight on Otabek, and Yuri can see how tense he looks — whether or not there’s a man sitting next to him. There’s something a little comforting about it, even though he never would’ve admitted it; he’s just relieved he isn’t the only one who feels out of place.

Everyone else seems to be mingling well. Phichit has taken selfies with everyone — even Yuri sighed and cooperated, internally berating himself that he _is_ here for publicity, after all. But Phichit is long gone and no one has tried to talk to him since. He filled up on mushroom caps and grabbed another flute of champagne, then resigned himself to watching everyone else.

He thinks longingly of his sketchbook with _Designs 2017_ scrawled on the cover, but it’s buried in his luggage which is no doubt being hauled into this prison of a mansion this very second. There’s nothing exciting to see here. Everyone is dressed fairly boring, except maybe Chris, but that’s just because he’s dressed like no sane person should. Even Viktor is wearing a vintage suit that looks just like every other ungodly expensive vintage suit Yuri has ever seen him. He scoffs a little at that; Viktor disappears into hiding for almost two months and comes out looking exactly the same _and_ on a reality television program. Talk about a fall from grace.

Viktor seems to realize his gaze, and gives the kid — Minami, maybe? — a pat on the shoulder and comes over to him. He starts to sit down next to Yuri, but Yuri stands instead. There’s the flash of a smile on Viktor’s face that grates on Yuri’s nerves.

“How long has it been since we’ve seen each other?” Viktor asks in perfect Russian. Viktor didn’t even grow up in Russia — he was adopted when he was still a baby. It’s certainly not annoying to hear Russian, but he doesn’t like hearing it from _Viktor_.

“Fashion week in Moscow,” Yuri answers. “In March.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you — I want you to design something for me.” He sips at some clear drink that is distinctly not champagne. His silver bangs fall in front of his eyes. Yuri frowns, knowing that Viktor would certainly be a perfect model for him. And would even more certainly be an excellent entry-point into the American market.

But he can’t help but let out a short sigh. “One of your vintage-inspired suits, I assume.” He tries to keep his voice from dripping with disdain, but he doesn’t do a very good job.

“Of course,” Viktor says, as always seeming to be completely impervious to Yuri’s derision.

“Ever thought about branching out?”

“I’m twenty-nine — it’s too late to branch out now.” Yuri can’t see anything past that blinding smile.

“Only a loser would say something that fucking lame—”

“Yuri,” Mila interrupts, grabbing onto his shoulder. He looks behind him with a glare. It’s Mila, a grimace on her face. “I told you to stick with English, didn’t I?” she asks, looking between them.

Yuri frowns. “I’m talking to this moron, not Otabek.”

“Everything is fair game to be on the show.”

He rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to retort, but she gives a surprised look back at the mansion then disappears behind the bright lights. He squints for her and then turns to where she was looking. Emil has emerged, a single rose on platter. Yuri takes a step forward, still a few paces behind everyone else. He gives a glance back towards Otabek, who is sitting alone, eyes focused on their group. 

“This is the first impression rose,” Emil says with gravitas that seems unwarranted, but judging by the couple people who gasp, Yuri assumes it’s something important to this ridiculous show. “Otabek will give it to the man who has succeeded in making the best impression on him tonight. That man will be safe at tonight’s rose ceremony.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and takes a step away. Before he can get too far, Mila appears again and yanks on her shoulder.

“ _Jesus_ , woman,” he exclaims, letting himself be pulled after her.

She practically shoves him into a chair and sits down across from him. There’s a camera just over her shoulder that’s focused on him. He blinks, looking between her grinning face and the camera a few times.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“About the rose?”

“Yes.”

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. _I’m sure it’ll go to someone a lot easier to get along with_ , he almost says. But that’s too truthful, and nothing about this place is lending itself to sincerity. Her eyes are still trained on him expectantly, and he can’t help but remember when she and a camera operator came to Moscow to film his introductory video. Even that had felt like pulling teeth, and he knows she won’t let up on him now that he’s actually _on_ the show.

“Does it make you nervous?”

“A stupid rose wouldn’t make me nervous,” he snaps. There’s a look of triumph on her face that he can’t read, but suddenly he wonders if he’s just been manipulated. He opens his mouth to say something else, but she’s already standing.

“Oh, and it’s your turn,” she tells him, her grin widening impossibly more.

***

_How do you feel about the first impression rose being brought out?_ Sara asks five separate times that night.

“Trust me, I make a great first impression,” Chris says, smirking.

“I’m not sure I qualify. Like, technically. Since we’ve known each other for ages,” Leo says with a small laugh, running his fingers through his long hair.

“Obviously it would be beneficial to already be guaranteed progressing to the next round,” Seung-gil tells her, expression not changing in the slightest.

“Who cares?” Michele asks with a frown. Sara glares at him and he adds, “It would be nice, I guess. To, you know, be wanted.”

“It would mean a lot,” Guang Hong tells her, a blush coloring his cheeks. “To know that he’s met all of these amazing people and thinks that _you’ve_ stood out? I mean, yeah, that would be great.”

***

Yuri sits down next to him, tossing a glare up at Mila and shrugging away from her hand on his shoulder. Otabek almost cracks a smile at that. Otabek takes in his profile — his sharp nose, brilliant green eyes, and waist-length blonde hair. Yuri reaches up and pulls it over one shoulder, which is when Otabek notices that his nails are painted jet black. There’s something almost otherworldly about his appearance, but certainly not in a _bad_ way. Otabek doesn’t even know him yet, but he’s been stuck for five days — with ten more weeks to go — in this world of fake reality, and Yuri seems like the only person who’s completely untouched by it.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Yuri asks brusquely, staring straight ahead at the mansion.

Otabek _does_ smile at that, and he thinks Yuri manages to catch sight of it when he finally looks at Otabek. “To find love,” Otabek lies easily; the lies usually don’t come so easy to him, but — judging by that no-bullshit personality — he assumes that Yuri is smart enough to be in on the conspiracy with him.

Sure enough, Yuri rolls his eyes. “But _seriously_ though,” he says in Russian.

Otabek has a good five seconds of shock — it’s been a while since anyone has spoken to him in anything but English — and then he answers back in Russian, “Sponsorship money. I’ve only got a couple good seasons left in me and—”

“STOP SPEAKING RUSSIAN,” Mila shouts.

Otabek is pulled out of their little world, whipping around to look at Mila. She looks completely and utterly _pissed_. He glances back at Yuri, who doesn’t look at all embarrassed. He leans back into the couch and crosses his legs, looking like the picture of indolence. There’s still something argumentative about it, though, or maybe it’s because he sticks his tongue out at Mila half a second later.

It’s all Otabek can do to hold back a laugh, and when he turns back to Mila, he has to force an apologetic look on his face. “We’ll stick to English,” Otabek assures her.

“Ever heard of subtitles?” Yuri asks. There’s something almost like a smile on Yuri’s face when Otabek turns back around again.

“What do you, um, do? For a living?” Otabek asks, feeling a little thrown off after their interruption, though Yuri seems more at ease.

“I’m a fashion designer. Strictly high-end.”

Otabek looks more closely at his clothes; from this close, he can see the subtle dark red leopard print on his blazer. The silky black shirt underneath, the dark grey pocket square artfully arranged. His clothes fit him perfectly, and Otabek is certain he must’ve designed them himself.

“You’re so young,” Otabek says. Yuri gives him a cold look and Otabek adds, “I meant, to be a famous designer.”

“Talent is talent.” He shrugs, but Otabek can see the pride all over him. “And, to be honest, your skating costumes could use some work.”

He snorts. “Yeah?” He tries not to feel offended by that, but he does a little — after all, _a lot_ of work gets put into _every_ aspect of his skating.

“Yeah,” Yuri says just as matter-of-factly.

“Time’s up,” Mila interrupts, rushing into the scene. She grabs Yuri’s shoulder, pulling him up. Yuri is definitely over six feet tall, but slender. Still, he doubts Mila could manhandle him to be standing without any help from him, but he stands up and walks off with her. Otabek can’t tell what she’s saying, but he knows she’s muttering something in Russian and sounds _pissed_.

He sits back, but he only has a few seconds of silence before Sara sets the next contestant next to him, whispering “Chris” in his ear as she walks off-camera.

Chris fiddles with the button of his jacket and for a horrible second, Otabek thinks he’s going to have to talk to a half-naked man like it’s normal. But instead Chris just turns a grin onto him, full-force, and Otabek tries to best to mold his expression into something moderately more pleasant. Chris doesn’t look terribly deterred.

“Do I look familiar?” he asks, that grin turning into a half-smile. He turns so that Otabek can see his profile.

“Um,” Otabek answers succinctly.

“I was in Home Alone.” He doesn’t look at all fazed by Otabek’s lack of recognition, and he settles back into the couch. “Child acting — some people say I’m one of the few smart enough to get out.”

“Probably.”

Chris doesn’t seem to mind his lackluster responses. His hazel-green eyes crinkle as he turns another grin on Otabek. “I’ve also done some modeling. As you could probably imagine.”

Otabek doesn’t have a second to try to formulate some sort of response before Chris leans into him as if to kiss him. He feels himself jerking away instinctively. Chris leans away, wide-eyed, but Otabek can’t think of anything to say. He knows that if he were a different man, he would be able to just lean forward and kiss Chris, if for no other reason than to make him look less hurt. Not to mention the fact that he’s sure there will be hell to pay from the producers later.

“Oh,” Chris finally says.

“It’s just — I don’t really just _kiss_ people.”

There’s only another second of silence — just enough for a confused look from Chris — before Sara comes and plucks him away.

It’s like an assembly line; just as Sara leads Chris away, Mila brings the next contestant to him. He’s relieved as always that she whispers his name into his ear, but it’s ultimately unnecessary, because he sticks his hand out and confidently says, “JJ.”

Otabek is fairly certain the producers would frown upon him introducing himself again, but he’s saved the need to decide because JJ immediately says, “I’m a _huge_ figure skating fan.”

He’s still reeling from that interaction with Chris, but at the phrase _figure skating_ he finds himself relaxing just a bit. He and JJ shake hands and JJ settles back into the couch as though he isn’t at all bothered by the lights and cameras and the fact that he’s competing with eleven other men for a man he doesn’t even know.

“I’m glad,” Otabek says.

JJ stares at him intently for a minute, but Otabek isn’t quite sure why. After the moment of scrutiny, JJ grins again. “You _crushed it_ at Worlds. Like, all those quads in the second half of your free skate? I mean that’s totally the kind of bold move I would do — you know, if I had a skill like that.”

Otabek shrugs, as always not very good at receiving compliments. “What do you do?”

“My family has a business in Quebec. Have you ever been?”

Otabek nods. “Skate Canada was held there once.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He asks it with a smirk on his face, as though he can’t imagine anyone _not_ enjoying it.

“Sure… I mean, the thing about skating is that you often don’t see much of the city you’re competing in. I did all my training in Toronto, so I know it better.”

“Quebec is… kind of its own thing,” he says with a laugh. He tosses his head back and laughs a little harder at some joke Otabek doesn’t get, and then he meets Otabek’s eyes again. “You’d love it, with me as your ultimate guide.”

Otabek feels one of his eyebrows go up. Something about the way JJ is looking at him feels even more invasive than when Chris did.

“Uh, yeah,” he agrees.

His tepid response doesn’t seem to do anything to discourage JJ, who grins just as widely as ever.

“Time’s up,” Mila says.

JJ gives him another wide grin and a confident, “Talk to you later,” as he stands up.

Once JJ has joined the rest of the group, Otabek leans back in the couch and buries his face in his hands. “Break time,” Sara says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll get you more bourbon.” She goes to pick up his glass, and gives him a _look_ when she sees that it’s still almost entirely full.

“I don’t like bourbon,” he admits.

“What _do_ you like?”

“Gin. Gin and tonic.”

She rolls her eyes. “The Bachelor drinking clear alcohol, are you fucking kidding me,” she mutters as she walks off.

***

“Otabek Altin may have won the gold medal at figure skating’s World Championships last year, but this year… will one of these twelve eligible _bachelors_ manage to win his heart?” Emil says with gravitas, but when he turns back to Minako, her eyes are glued to the typed copy of his introductory speech that she’s holding.

He groans, walking over and stopping right in front of her. “I’m, like, doing some of my best work here,” he tells her. She continues to ignore him. “So what do you think?”

She taps her pen on her desk and finally looks up at him. “Whether there’s a way to play up this whole gay thing a little more without making anyone too offended,” Minako finally answers. She’s turned halfway around in her chair. _Throne_ , practically — at least, that’s what Emil thinks even though he’s never said anything. She’s the executive producer and she gets to sit down here in her control room — sometimes Emil calls it her bunker, sometimes he calls it the War Room — and watch roughly one million screens. He doesn’t mind spending time here — he’s one of the few. The largest screen is a close-up on Otabek, sitting on his sofa and taking a break with a pained look on his face.

But Minako is busy looking down at Emil’s draft, and now he notices that her red pen has slashed through most of it. He makes a pained noise in the back of his throat. He’s given the same basic speech for the last few seasons of the show, ever since they hired him — not to mention all those seasons of _The Bachelorette_ and even _Bachelor in Paradise_ — so he doesn’t know what there really is to complain about.

“Subtly—” he says, and then breaks off, grinning.

“Is not what we do around here,” she shoots right back, and he laughs — he had known she was going to say that.

“And what do you think about Otabek?”

“Oh.” She looks up and glances back at the screen. “Well the network mandated more diversity,” she says with a shrug. “After Rachel’s season of _The Bachelorette_ drew in record numbers. Not to mention we had to do _something_ after that disaster with Nick and Vanessa last season — _and_ Ben and Lauren splitting up.” She pauses and looks down at her notes. “Maybe we should mention marriage equality? Go for some tears?” As always, she’s doing a million things at once. “Middle America wouldn’t like that — but we’re really banking on them hating the whole _season_ , so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

There aren’t many people down in the control room. All of her other producers are out among the contestants, but she usually stays locked up here. She talks into their headsets every step of the way — even Emil finds her omnipresent and seemingly omnipotent Godlike knowledge of _everything_ frankly disturbing sometimes, but no one can deny she runs a tight ship. And still brings in big numbers. Emil is one of the few people that gets along with her — though, to be fair, he gets along with most people.

“I mean,” Emil tries again, “what do you think of him _personally_.”

She finally throws down her pen and leans back in her chair. “Well, he’s far from verbose.” She frowns. “The network _pushed_ for him. He _is_ just famous enough, and he certainly does look good on camera. I’m just worried we won’t have all those tears like we got last season. God, Nick was a dream other than his shitty taste in women.” She bites her thumb nail and glares at the screen. “There’s _got_ to be a way to get something out of him. _Everyone_ has a weakness, right?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves his speech back at him. “Don’t forget to pull him aside and get an interview before the rose ceremony,” she reminds him unnecessarily. “And make sure he picks someone who’s husband material for the first impression rose.”

He just snorts.

Then he glances at the big board behind him. Photos of all twelve men are lined up in two neat rows, with their names under each one. Emil notices a new addition since the last time he was here — a card marked _villain_ above Yuri Plisetsky’s photo and cards labeled _frontrunner_ next to Leo and Phichit’s photos.

He half-smiles and shakes his head fondly. Some things never change.

***

Guang Hong is sitting by himself on a couch on the patio. Phichit just left him, after a pretty long conversation about traveling, but now he’s deeply immersed in some sort of talk with Yuuri, and Guang Hong doesn’t want to interrupt. The first impression rose is sitting on a shiny gold-edged plate about ten feet away from him. He knows that he’s not interesting or talkative enough to make the best impression on others, _especially_ not at first, and it feels like a constant reminder.

He’s watched the last couple seasons of _The Bachelor_. His cousin and roommate, Delun, watches religiously, and Guang Hong finds it more tolerable than his other reality TV choices, like _The Real Housewives_. Sure, he’s never been a _fan_ , but now he thinks that maybe he’s been writing it off too easily. It really _is_ nerve-wracking to be here among all these men that are _definitely_ more attractive and probably more successful than he is.

His coworkers have spent every day since tax season ended trying and sometimes succeeding at getting him to watch videos of Otabek skating. Guang Hong has never cared one way or the other about figure skating — the only sport he likes is soccer — but even he found all those videos impressive. Almost _too_ impressive. _Crippling anxiety-inducing_ impressive.

And the first impression rose sitting there really isn’t helping.

“Still haven’t had your turn?” a voice asks.

He stops glowering at the rose — and feels silly instantaneously — and looks up. He tries to remember this guy’s name, but he’s completely forgotten. “Uh, no,” he answers, leaning against the arm of the couch and resting his chin on his hand as he gives a quick glance over to where Otabek was having his meetings, but he’s not there anymore. Probably taking a break — Guang Hong doesn’t blame him for that.

“It’s Leo. Um, like, in case you forgot.”

Guang Hong turns back to him with a smile. “Guang Hong.”

Leo sits down next to him, which is a welcome distraction from sitting here letting his anxiety fester. Leo is — like _everyone_ , it seems — completely _stunning_. Not only are his features, of course, perfect — Guang Hong is particularly partial to those eyebrows and he never even knew he liked hair parted down the middle until right now — but the way he seems utterly confident and comfortable is what makes him stand out.

“You looked bored,” Leo says. He’s drinking what looks like _water_ , which Guang Hong didn’t even know was an option. Not that he would’ve turned down the Old Fashioned he’s drinking — it’s probably the best he’s ever had.

“Oh,” Guang Hong says, succeeding for once in stopping himself from blushing. It’s kind of embarrassing that Leo _noticed_ , let alone came over here to rescue him or something.

He chuckles. “I mean, like, I am too.”

There’s a brief moment of awkward silence, then Guang Hong asks tentatively, “How did your meeting go?”

Leo grins. “Well, I mean, he and I have met before—”

“ _You’re_ the other skater.” He wishes he could groan and bury his face into his hands. He feels himself starting to blush, which is unfortunately the norm for him, but he wishes he could’ve held off a little longer before completely embarrassing himself.

“Yeah.” He says it with a shrug and a smile as though it’s nothing impressive. Meanwhile, Guang Hong’s greatest accomplishment is passing his last CPA exam six months ago.

“Is he great?” Guang Hong asks.

“ _Yeah_. Like, he’s totally awesome. He got gold at Worlds last season, you know.”

Guang Hong takes a drink, settling back into the couch. He feels more comfortable now. The first impression rose doesn’t look like quite such a threat — it’s just _one_ rose, and there will be ten more to go at the actual rose ceremony — and he’s certainly survived worse than having an awkward first conversation with a guy he’s never met.

“How did you do?” Guang Hong asks.

“Silver.” His grin is proud and doesn’t have any lingering bitterness to it.

Guang Hong feels himself smiling, too. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he laughs. “So what do you do?”

“ _I_ heard,” another voice interrupts, “that you’re an _accountant_.”

Leo and Guang Hong both whip around and look at the intruder. Guang Hong does remember that his name is Georgi. He’s got heavy black eyeliner on and a condescending grin on his face. He leans onto the couch as though he’s casually joining the conversation.

Guang Hong frowns. “Yeah,” he admits.

Leo’s eyebrows raise, but before he can say anything, Georgi says, “Leo, Otabek, and I are true _artists_ , you know. Not number-crunchers.”

“What do _you_ do, Georgi?” Leo asks, not sounding too happy.

“Theater. It’s the truest form of acting, you know.” He straightens up and sweeps his arm to the side. “Truly an immersive experience.”

“Have I heard of you?” Guang Hong shoots back. He _likes_ his job — a lot — but it’s hard to justify. Especially under pressure. _Especially_ in front of a world-famous professional figure skater.

Georgi frowns — it’s clear that Guang Hong struck a nerve. “We haven’t all sold our souls just to make _money_. Every day you get more creatively bankrupt while _some_ of us—”

“Um,” Leo says sharply, turning back to Georgi. “Bro, can you maybe, like, _not_?”

Guang Hong blushes but can’t help but let out a smile as Georgi straightens with a sour look on his face. “I just wanted to save you hours of boring conversations,” he tells Leo before whipping around and stalking off in the opposite direction.

“How ridiculous,” Leo scoffs, glaring at Georgi’s back. “He should, like, keep his stupid comments in his pocket.”

Guang Hong freezes for a second and then bursts out laughing. It’s so loud that he notices several heads turn, but he buries his face into his hands and keeps laughing. “Really?” Guang Hong asks, barely able to talk. “ _The Room_?”

He sneaks a look at Leo, who’s grinning proudly. “It’s a great movie. Like, the _best_ bad movie.”

“I _know_.” He laughs for another minute and then straightens in his seat. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed so hard he almost started crying, but he feels better for it.

“Your turn,” Sara says unceremoniously from behind him.

“Good luck!” Leo says instantly.

Guang Hong gives him a smile, almost wishing he could sit here another minute longer.

***

“Where are you from?” Otabek asks Guang Hong.

Guang Hong is flushed completely red. Otabek doesn’t know if this is normal for him or not, but he _had_ also been blushing furiously when he’s stepped out the limo. He was cute and a little stammering — ultimately setting himself apart just for being _normal_ , something that Otabek appreciated.

But seeing him so anxious now is certainly making Otabek feel so awkward that it’s impeding his already lackluster conversation skills. He’s sure that somewhere Minako is furiously declaring this footage unusable, but his main concern is making Guang Hong feel a little more comfortable. Otabek just doesn’t like seeing anyone look _terrified_.

“Seattle,” he says. He fiddles with the buttons of his tan suit.

“That’s where Leo is from, right?”

“Um, I have no idea. Is he really?” Guang Hong looks back at the patio and then turns back around, running his hand through his hair. “Oh, uh, I was actually born in Shanghai. But I’ve always lived in Seattle. Ever since I moved here.”

Otabek nods. “When was that?”

“For college.” Guang Hong looks down at his hands. His blush is gone but he certainly looks far from comfortable.

“Why did you come on the show?” Otabek asks quietly. Guang Hong doesn’t look like the type who would be here — which, of course, Otabek is sure that everyone is saying about him being the Bachelor. He was forced into watching clips of season seventeen of the show during the last week, and he knows he’s never going to be able to pull off constant impassioned speeches the way he’s supposed to.

“I just wanted to have a good time.” He sounds so sincere that he takes Otabek off-guard. “Fun, travel, maybe falling in love. It seemed… like a good idea. At the time.”

Otabek cracks a half-smile at that.

Guang Hong is staring off into the distance again, no longer looking quite so sure about himself. “Love is weird,” Guang Hong says slowly, still not making eye contact. “Like, we really just want love to _find_ us, which is unrealistic. But then when we _search_ for it, we feel ridiculous.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Otabek asks abruptly. That was one of the many lines he’s been coached to ask by the producers, but he never would have even thought to use it until now.

Guang Hong turns back to him, cheeks pink. “I don’t think so. Have you?”

Otabek shakes his head and leans back on the couch. “I’ve dated, but… no, I don’t think so either.”

Guang Hong lets out a quiet chuckle, leaning back, too. He props his feet up on the couch with a sigh. Otabek expects Sara to come and break up the conversation like she has been all night, but they just sit in companionable silence for a minute.

“It’s weird,” Guang Hong says.

“Love?” Otabek guesses, confused.

Guang Hong leans over and whispers, “The cameras.”

Otabek lets out a laugh.

“Okay, time’s up,” Sara says, all-business, and Guang Hong gives Otabek a hesitant smile before jumping up. Before Otabek has any time to assemble his expression into anything that could remotely be construed as polite, Mila sets the next contestant down next to him. “Georgi,” she whispers into his ear, disappearing behind the lights. He knows he should be used to it by now, but he can still feel the whiplash.

Georgi looks in every way to be the complete opposite of Guang Hong. He’s wearing heavy eyeliner, not to mention that there’s a confident smirk on his face.

“It’s nice to finally speak with you,” he says.

Otabek gives a noncommittal nod, knowing that somewhere a producer is groaning.

“So what’s your romantic history?” he asks, undeterred. “To be honest, I went through quite an extensive Google search before coming on the show, and the tabloids have been very silent about you — well, everything other than your _professional_ accomplishments, of course, which are obviously _very_ impressive.”

Otabek has answered this question for the producers a million times in interviews the past week — somehow they found time in between trying to get as many shots as possible of him doing pointless tasks shirtless. So it’s with somewhat practiced ease that he answers, “I’ve had a couple boyfriends in the past, but nothing serious. And I haven’t dated anyone at all for the last few years — I’ve been focusing on training.”

Georgi nods, seeming to accept that answer a lot faster than the producers did (they seemed to want tears, which Otabek doesn’t have in him to provide).

“I was engaged once,” he says without prompting, “to a beautiful woman named Anya. She broke my heart.” He stares off into the distance, tears forming in his eyes. “At the time, I thought we were the greatest romance of all time. I fought hard to get her back, thinking that it was all part of the plan of that fickle, elusive beast called fate. And just as I was about to succeed, she… was gone.” He turns the full force of his blue eyes on Otabek, a single tear escaping from one eye. “She died in a tragic accident, and I wasn’t even there to save her.”

He buries his face into his hands, and Otabek gives him a tentative pat on his shoulder. He knows that a better man than him would have some words to say in this situation, but he’s known this man for all of sixty seconds. And he can’t help but think that some of that speech sounded more than a little _rehearsed_.

“Um,” he says, “that sounds horrible.”

“It _was_ ,” Georgi agrees fervently, looking back at Otabek, moving a few inches closer. “There is nothing worse than being unlucky in love, Otabek. But I believe everything happens for a reason.”

“Right,” Otabek says, pulling his hand away as Georgi reaches for it. Georgi’s eyes narrow.

He wishes he could turn around and signal a producer to come save him, but he knows it wouldn’t work even if he had such a signal in the first place. So he’s stuck here, the awkward seconds dragging by painfully as Georgi stares at him intensely.

“Perhaps you’ve just never felt such pain, Otabek,” he says, a hard edge to his voice. “Don’t you think perhaps your figure skating could be improved with something — or _someone_ — more _passionate_ around?”

He shrugs, feeling his expression go back to blank.

“There’s more than one kind of passion,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” Mila finally interrupts, a smirk on her face. “Time’s up.”

He lightly brushes his hand against Otabek’s as he stands up and glides off. Otabek sighs and leans back on the couch, already feeling exhausted. He tries to count in his head how many man he’s seen — and how many he has left — but before he can take his mind off that conversation with Georgi, Mila is back as quickly as she left, this time with the guy with the strangely dyed hair whose name Otabek doesn’t remember. Even without Mila’s helpfully-whispered _Minami_ in his ear, Otabek wouldn’t have had to guess, as Minami immediately says, “I know it’s probably weird that I go by my last name, but I guess I _always_ have.”

His eyes are huge and fixed on Otabek as though he has something to say back. Which, Otabek supposes, is a fair assumption, given that he willingly signed up to be the star of a dating show.

“I, uh, don’t really think it’s that weird,” Otabek finally manages, not really knowing what to say. It isn’t as though he had at all implied it’s weird to go by his surname.  

But Minami lights up, his grin almost as impossibly wide as his huge eyes. Otabek doesn’t really think that any of what he said warranted such a response, but just as he considers the fact that he should probably make an attempt to smile, Minami launches into another discussion.

“ _All_ my family are doctors. Like, my parents and my older siblings, even some of my cousins. And, I mean, yeah, sure — I get it — money and job prospects and everything. But, I don’t know — I just didn’t really think that was for _me_ , you know? So I got a degree in psychology — and it’s like, yeah, I _know_ that’s something that people complain about Millennials getting a degree in, but is it so _wrong_ to follow your passion? And, sure, I graduated a while ago, but I do have a _plan_ to be a social worker. I, like, really think I could be good — and make a _difference._ I mean not everyone can change the world or anything, but… I mean, is it really so horrible to _try_?”

“No,” Otabek agrees quietly, relieved — if nothing else — for the difference from Georgi.

“I mean obviously _you_ inspire people every day — and you’ll inspire people even _more_ just by being on this show — like, representation really _matters_ , obviously. I never even could’ve imagined that someone like _me_ could be a contestant, and you’re the one calling all the shots. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Otabek is taken aback by that and struck completely silent — not that that’s anything new for him. Minami gives him another grin and then looks down at his hands. Otabek looks away, too, wondering if he’s past the point where a reply would be polite.

“I’ve never really thought of it like that,” he finally replies.

Minami gives him a relieved smile, but their conversation is completely burnt out. The awkward silence stretches on for another full minute, Otabek waiting anxiously for a producer to put them out of their misery. Finally Mila comes and taps his shoulder. “Bye!” he says with a friendly wave, bounding up and back to the others.

***

Viktor has taken to sitting by himself, having grown tired of his unsuccessful attempts to have normal conversations with the other contestants. The ones who he feels that he _could_ speak normally to — like Leo, perhaps, or Phichit — are deeply immersed in their own conversations (with Guang Hong and the man whose name Viktor recently learned was Yuuri, respectively). When he looked over at Yuri — who was walking back from his interviews — he responded with a glare that could level buildings all on its own. So Viktor found a couch and settled in, wondering how his last tweet would be received.

**@viktor13 • 6 hours ago**  
_The rumors are true — see you this season on @BachelorABC!_

It was probably _too_ succinct. He regrets it a little bit now, but he’d sat in his car for a full ten minutes typing and deleting drafts. He’d typed out platitudes about love, deleting every single one. He’d quoted his own lyrics, then felt stupid for even considering it. Eventually he’d just landed on this, turning his phone off and handing it to the producer the second the tweet went through, trying and failing to not imagine the social media blaze that surely erupted seconds later.

_Especially_ since he’s been deeply immersed in his so-called ‘dark period’ for the almost two months. Cutting himself off from social media hadn’t been a plan — it had just sort of _happened_. And then the detox felt so good that he just kept going, enjoying not hearing about his name in the tabloids. His Rhode Island home is effectively a fortress.

He’s just had nothing to _say_ on social media. What do they want to hear — that he’s been trying and failing to record new music? That he’s recovering from yet another breakup? That he’s beginning to believe people when they say that the topics for his songs are old and tired and worn out? That _he’s_ getting old and tired and worn out? He isn’t the same seventeen-year-old kid, fresh on the scene, optimistic and ready for anything.

They tell him he shouldn’t change, and they tell him he’s boring when he stays the same. Mostly he’s tired of their voices.

Viktor sighs and leans back in his seat.

He’s sure that, even now, that tweet is a hotly debated topic, and he’s glad he isn’t there for it. He just knows that there are fewer cameras surrounded him _here_ than there would be out _there_ in the real world.

He takes another swig of vodka, not being quite as careful with his alcohol consumption as he would normally be. He settles into the couch, wondering how much longer until the rose ceremony. It’ll be a while, he realizes, since he hasn’t even had his own one on one conversation with Otabek. He wonders if this will be a full season of them saving him for last like he’s some kind of prize.  

Someone leans over the back of the couch. “You’re _really_ Viktor?” he says, a wide grin over his face. JJ. Viktor has barely met him but he doesn’t seem like anyone of particular importance.

“The very same,” Viktor answers smoothly, facing forward.

That doesn’t deter JJ from hopping over the back of the couch and sitting down next to him. Viktor notices that Yuuri and Phichit have ended up nearby. Viktor misses the silence.

“ _1989_ was a good album,” JJ says without preamble, as though it’s a generous compliment. Viktor turns to look at him, carefully arranging his expression into a smile, even though it feels a little tight on his face. He doesn’t thank him like JJ is probably expecting, so JJ adds, “But, to be honest, I really liked Ryan Adams’s cover of _1989_. Like, I kind of preferred it — like, it really _spoke_ to me? Not that yours wasn’t _good_ — it’s just, it sort of elevated it.”

Viktor feels his smile slip away, but he forces it back just as quickly. He wouldn’t admit it, but that strikes a nerve — reopens an old wound he knows he should’ve gotten over after it happened two years ago. “Yes,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “it was very courageous of him to change all the pronouns to make it heterosexual.”

JJ frowns. “The _point_ was to reexamine gender and sexuality,” he explains. “Your album covered everything with glossy pop — Ryan Adams did you a _favor_ by showing the world how good your lyrics are.”

“We _knew_ how great his lyrics were,” a different voice interrupts. Yuuri flushes but takes a couple steps closer to them. Phichit is staring at Yuuri open-mouthed, and Viktor is sure his own eyes are wide with shock. He isn’t used to people defending him, let alone the guy that ran away from him mere hours ago. “His lyrics have _always_ been great — and Ryan Adams’ changes were ridiculous. ‘Ass so tight’ — _seriously_ , what kind of lyric is that? And the whole point of the album was meant to be pop. You can’t just make a couple changes and expect everything to sound right when you make it some maudlin country.”

Viktor suddenly understands why Yuuri ran away from him earlier — because he’s a _fan_. Yuuri gives him a quick, terrified look and then turns back to JJ. “And not all critics liked it. I mean, even Pitchfork — and they didn’t even bother to _review_ Viktor’s album — thought it was mediocre.”

“So what—” JJ starts, but he sounds like he’s losing steam.

“Growing up as a gay teenager listening to Viktor’s music… it really meant a lot. And it’s just annoying how people think that someone made it _better_ when he’s already _amazing_.”

JJ rolls his eyes and Viktor slips off the couch, taking a step towards Yuuri. He’s just glad that he didn’t have to personally rip JJ’s head off since Yuuri did such a thorough job, but Yuuri throws him another scared look. JJ mumbles something that sounds like _ridiculous_ and stalks off, face flushed.

Viktor finds himself with a genuine smile for the first time in ages. “That was _awesome_ ,” he says, then immediately breaks off because Yuuri’s terrified look doesn’t change at all.

“Um,” Yuuri says, pauses another second, and then darts off into the mansion.

Viktor laughs.

***

“What kind of art do you do?” Otabek asks, not even bothering to make eye contact. They’re already a few long minutes into their conversation, and Otabek is willing to say anything to alleviate the awkwardness.

Seung-gil looks as unenthused by this whole process as Otabek feels. “I evaluate which type of art is most popular,” he says in a flat, even tone. “Which is moderately more difficult now that Busan is becoming known as an emerging artistic capital of East Asia. Still, there are some obvious trends. At the moment, it seems that many individuals and galleries are interested in large, metal sculptures. Found objects are considered quite relevant — with growing concerns about pollution and political unrest — not to mention that the comparatively low cost of them coupled with large size makes them particularly profitable.”

“Oh, that’s…” Otabek tries, but breaks off immediately. He’s never felt quite so _normal_ before. He hasn’t always had the luxury of having the final say in his music choices or his choreography, and he’s not a stranger to making decisions out of necessity. But he can’t help but think that Seung-gil’s view of art sounds so _sterile_. “What _would_ you be making, if you could choose anything?”

“As my works grow in popularity, perhaps I will eventually be able to decide exactly what I _want_ to make, but… but that hasn’t seemed like a wise idea at the moment.”

_That’s not an answer_ , Otabek wants to say, but stops himself. Instead he just tilts his head and asks, “Do you enjoy it?”

Seung-gil looks at him, evaluating. Otabek matches his gaze. Seung-gil _is_ a good-looking man — like all the men put in front of him are — but there’s something disconcerting about him. Like he can see straight through him.

“I do,” Seung-gil finally says. “I considered other alternate career paths but, ultimately, yes… I suppose some things _are_ just a matter of the heart.”

Otabek nods. He’s been working with a theory that Seung-gil might be some sort of robot, but that response seems decidedly human.

“I appreciate your skating,” Seung-gil tells him without any prompting. “It’s unlike anyone else’s. Efficient and masculine while still working within the confines of what the sport considers to be acceptable. I find it to be impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, Seung-gil,” Sara says, patting his shoulder. He flinches and sends her a glare, but gets up immediately. He nods at Otabek and then walks back into the crowd. Otabek sits back on the couch, taking a deep breath. It takes a couple minutes until Sara is back, this time with Phichit in tow.

He’s grinning a wide, genuine smile — a marked difference from the man who was sitting in that seat just a couple minutes ago.

“Well, first thing’s first,” Phichit says, laughter in his tone. “Let’s take a selfie.”

It takes Otabek a second to comprehend what Phichit is saying; not that he’s never heard that phrase — because he’s certainly been dragged into many photos before — but just because he couldn’t have expected to hear something so normal _here_ , where all signs of electronics have been hidden away. But Phichit pulls out a large, fancy digital camera and slides over to Otabek, tilting his head and grinning. Otabek, as usual, doesn’t do anything beyond gazing at the camera. Phichit takes the photo and then pulls it back to look at it. Otabek is just impressed that he managed to aim that giant camera _just so_ to get both of them perfectly in frame.

“You know, if you pick me, this will be a _really_ great thing to have.” He smiles at the photo and then looks up as though something has just occurred to him. “This whole _show_ is kind of like one giant selfie, I guess. Or, like, some crazy, insane blog post.”

He settles into Otabek’s side. Otabek stiffens, but Phichit doesn’t seem to notice or care. After a few seconds, he realizes Phichit has stayed planted there so that Otabek can see the photos that he’s scrolling through. There are selfies with every other contestant and plenty of the crew — people even Otabek doesn’t recognize, and he’s been stuck here a full five days.

“You’ve been busy,” Otabek comments.

He laughs. “There’s nothing better to do, right? I was _strongly discouraged_ from exploring the mansion. But I guess that just gives me something to do tomorrow.” He flashes Otabek a roguish grin, and Otabek wonders what sort of secrets Phichit will discover. “Don’t worry,” he adds after a minute as though he’s read Otabek’s mind, “I’ll tell you if I find anything good.”

Otabek half-smiles. “Please do.”

Phichit grins at him, his camera lowering a few inches as he gazes at Otabek. “You’re, like, _really_ hot, you know?” he asks conversationally. Before Otabek can do more than let his eyes bug out in horror, Phichit turns back to his camera. “Okay, okay, that’s _totally_ not the point. Look, they gave me roughly eight billion rules to keep this camera — yes, I run a lifestyle blog, and, yes, it is _awesome_ — and I asked them to keep a couple old photos and they agreed. They weren’t too happy about it but when are they happy about anything?” There’s a pause as he finally gets to the beginning of his camera roll. “ _Here_ ,” he says.

Otabek looks down, surprised. There’s a selfie of Phichit in front of Ascension Cathedral in Almaty. He flips to the next photo and it’s a view of the city that Otabek knows could only come from Kok-Tobe Hill — only accessible by cable car. He feels a bloom of warmth in his stomach; he didn’t realize how much he missed being home until _just now_. Nothing here reminds him of Almaty.

“I’ve _been_ to Almaty. For four days about a year ago. I went after visiting Lake Song-Köl and I was on my way to some weird place in Gansu China — called Echoing Sand Mountain. I got _great_ photos of both, let me tell you — I wish the producers let me keep them. And, I mean, Almaty was amazing, too.” He grins up at Otabek. “I think it’s cool that you went back to your home country after being stuck in Canada so long.”

He smiles. “I was glad to be back.”

Phichit finally slides back to the other end of the couch. “I’ve always been more of an anywhere-but-here kind of guy.” He shrugs, seeming ambivalent about it

Otabek shrugs, too. “It’s not as though I’m stuck in one place.”

Phichit laughs. “Far from it.” He picks up his camera and snaps a photo before Otabek realizes what he’s doing. “Better get used to it,” he says with another laugh, looking at how the photo turned out. “Consider me season twenty-two’s personal photographer. I’m not going to miss a second of this.”

“What about those seconds you miss when you look at your camera?”

He snorts. “You sound like an old man cursing millennials.”

Otabek half-smiles.

“Time’s up,” Sara says from off to the side.

Phichit smiles at him and hovers nearby — Otabek wonders if he’s considering going in for a kiss, but Otabek turns back to the front and Phichit seems to give up immediately. “Nice talking to you,” Otabek says politely.

“See you at the rose ceremony,” Phichit laughs.

Otabek sighs, counting through all his meetings so far in an attempt to confirm that there’s only one man left. He’s quickly interrupted by the last man in question.

Mila doesn’t bother bringing him all the way to the couch, instead slipping off when Viktor is still a good ten feet away. Otabek can’t help but feel surprised and uneasy all over again. Viktor looks perfectly comfortable, closing the gap between them. Not a single hair out of place, his tan suit looking perfect. He settles onto the extreme opposite end of the couch, the only indication that he might be the slightest bit nervous is the way his eyes flicker to the camera.

“A long night,” Viktor finally says, fixing a grin on him.

If there’s something almost preternatural about Yuri’s beauty, then there’s certainly something equally inhuman about Viktor’s — but it’s a different kind of disconcerting altogether. Like something that shouldn’t exist outside of the glossy pages of a photoshopped magazine cover. The kind of beauty that a team of experts working on still wouldn’t _quite_ be able to achieve. And yet here he is, flesh-and-bone _Viktor_.

“Yes,” Otabek agrees, a moment too late. Viktor is the only person who has sat quite so far away. Otabek looks down at his hands and then back up at Viktor. “Let’s just be honest for a second,” he says suddenly, wanting to just get it out of the way.

“An interesting strategy,” Viktor says with a wry smile, but he turns his face and after just a second, Otabek sees a flicker of a frown come over him. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he turns to Otabek with the same polite smile.

“Not that I’m not happy to have you on the show, but… why?”

Now his grin is utterly blinding. “I guess you could say that I’m looking for a different way to find love.”

“By coming on a reality show?” Otabek asks, unable to stop himself from being skeptical.

He gives a single nod. “Are you terribly familiar with me?”

“Your more recent albums,” Otabek says. He’s not one for country music, so when Viktor skewed more towards pop, Otabek encountered more. He enjoyed it — not enough to actively seek it out, but if he was listening to pop music, he certainly didn’t turn it off.

“It seems as though you don’t want me here,” Viktor states very slowly, but his smile never falters.

Otabek sighs and slides a few inches closer to Viktor on the couch. It isn’t much of a gesture, but he doesn’t have anything else. Viktor’s eyebrows raise, but Otabek just stares off into the crowd. “You have to admit, it is a little _weird_ that you’re here. Anyone would be curious.”

Viktor chuckles lightly. “A fair point.”

_I don’t want you here any more or less than anyone else_ , Otabek almost says, but he knows any sane person would take that the wrong way. “I DJ sometimes,” he offers instead. “I like _1989_.”

Viktor laughs. “Multitalented, aren’t you?” he asks, the smile on his face looking more genuine. 

***

 

Otabek wonders idly what time it is; after he finished all his meetings, he was dragged away for at least an hour of interviews. Before now, he would’ve considered him well-versed in interviews, but the ones for the show are a completely different animal than press after a skating competition — and he’s exhausted.

Then Emil pulled him aside and discussed his choice for first impression rose. Otabek didn’t realize such a decision required so much discussion, and somewhere towards the middle he felt like his brain was spinning. But by the end of the conversation Emil had smiled that ear-splitting grin of his, and Otabek felt for the first time that his choice was validated.

He didn’t know how he felt about that.

He walks back through the mansion; Yuri is sitting in a corner by the fireplace, looking sullen as he drinks champagne, with Seung-gil equally silent next to him. Viktor is sitting with Minami, Chris, and Georgi. The whole room looks up at him, that fake smile freezing on Viktor’s face. Otabek almost walks past the rose sitting on its platter — he’s fairly certain that it used to be outside. He shrugs and backtracks, plucking the rose off the tray with a forced smile at the group. When he looks up, Yuri is frowning at him.

“Did you _see_ that?” he hears Chris whisper as he walks back outside. Michele and JJ look up from where they’re standing by the bar, JJ’s eyes narrowing.

He never knew it would feel like such a long walk. But he finally makes it to the outdoor sectional. Leo, Guang Hong, Yuuri, and Phichit all look up at him. “Um,” he says, “Guang Hong, can I steal you for a second?” The words feel trite coming out of his mouth, but Emil had made him repeat the phrase three times — Otabek wonders if Emil finds him a bit slow on the uptake.

Guang Hong’s eyes widen into saucers and then a slow, tentative smile comes across his face. “Me? _Seriously_?”

Leo snorts and punches him lightly in the leg.

The only thing Otabek can think to do is offer his hand to Guang Hong. He immediately flushes completely red, but he takes Otabek’s hand and stands up. Phichit gives a wolf-whistle, and he and Leo laugh. Guang Hong throws them a look Otabek doesn’t catch, and it isn’t until they’re a few feet away from the others that Guang Hong finally makes eye contact with him. The blush has faded from his face.

Otabek forgets where he’s going until Guang Hong tugs him to a different, more secluded couch. Grateful that Guang Hong’s brain is still functional, Otabek sits down next to him on the couch, and Guang Hong tentatively lets go of his hand. “How are you doing?” Otabek asks.

“It’s sort of overwhelming, you know?”

Otabek finds himself letting out a small laugh, relieved at his decision. Emil also recommended Phichit, but Otabek was fairly adamant about Guang Hong. “Trust me, I know,” Otabek agrees.

Then he holds up the rose. It seems stupid that just a rose holds so much significance, but he’s been trained the ins and outs of rose ceremonies and practiced the proper way to slip the stem of the rose into the button-hole of a jacket. Something about this place makes him feel like maybe it _is_ important.

_Make sure you give a speech,_ Emil told him.

“Um,” Guang Hong says. He opens his mouth and then closes it, just blushing again.

“Um,” Otabek unintentionally echoes. He takes a deep breath. “I feel like we had a really good conversation,” he says, sounding lame even to himself, but that small smile on Guang Hong’s face makes him feel like he’s doing _something_ right. “I’d like to get to know you better, and — well, I hope you do, too. I mean, from the first moment you stepped out of the limo, I really felt a connection.” He tapers off, trying to remember everything that he’s been trained to say. After only a second, he gives up. “I’d like to see how this goes.” He holds up the rose and asks, “With all that being said… Guang Hong, will you accept this first impression rose?”

Guang Hong’s entire face is crimson, and Otabek is moderately concerned that there might be something unhealthy about that. But Guang Hong just bites his lip and nods. “I’d love to,” he whispers.

Otabek finds himself half-smiling as he leans forward and slips the rose into the button-hole of Guang Hong’s jacket. Guang Hong leans forward. For a second, Otabek freezes, thinking he’s going in for a kiss, but Guang Hong just gives him a quick hug instead.

Guang Hong is grinning now.

***

“Well, Yuri,” Mila says.

Yuri looks around the room instead of answering. He’s seen everyone else get taken away for interviews the second that Otabek disappeared with the rose. So he just leans back in his chair and pointedly ignores the two cameras in the room. He’s just glad to be away from the _noise_ , even if he’s tired of the million interviews he’s already had to go through tonight. He’s beginning to regret not listening to Yuuko when she tried to regale him with the finer points she’d learned from the internet about being a contestant on this show.

“How do you feel?” Mila asks.

He shrugs. “I mean, tired, I guess.” He looks around for a clock, but — as always — there aren’t any. Judging by the time he met Otabek, he’s sure it must be somewhere close to 3am. He’s _exhausted_ — even though he has no idea when or _where_ he’ll be able to sleep in this stupid, tacky mansion.

She rolls her eyes. _Bitch_ , Yuri thinks. “How do you feel about not getting the first impression rose?”

“I already told you once I don’t give a fuck about roses.”

“It seemed like you two had a really good conversation — something that maybe you thought would warrant a first impression rose.”

Yuri knows he’s being baited, but that doesn’t stop him from instantly feeling more on-edge. He sits up straight on the chair and forces himself just to shrug. _Don’t fly off the handle_ , he reminds himself. _You’re here for self-promotion, not to make a fool of yourself in front of millions of people._ “There are a lot of people here and a lot more roses still left to give out,” he finally says; it’s a practiced response, but his tone sounds petulant even to himself.

Something comes across Mila’s face that Yuri doesn’t like. He finds himself leaning forward in his chair. “You _liked_ him,” Mila says, a grin on her face. He doesn’t know how she understood that so quickly, but he doesn’t like it.

“Isn’t that the point of your stupid show?” He feels a new flash of annoyance. He _does_ like Otabek — he’s one of the least annoying people that Yuri has ever met. He knows it’s stupid to _care_ — and he certainly isn’t madly in love like that smirk on Mila’s face seems to be implying.

“It must hurt — that he likes at least one other person _more_.”

“Look,” he finally snaps, “if Otabek wants a guy who’s just cute and nice and boring, then I’m sure he and Guang Hong will be very happy.”

_Dammit_ , he thinks to himself, but he can’t help but be annoyed at himself. He might be interested in Otabek — which he _shouldn’t_ be, he reminds himself furiously — but Otabek gave the first impression rose to someone who Yuri could only describe as the polar opposite of himself.

He almost laughs. Caring about a stupid rose? He’s been in this mansion five hours and it’s already going straight to his head.

He jumps up and walks out of the room.

***

Otabek and Emil go to the den — Otabek isn’t sure what the technical term is, but he supposes that’s good enough. He’s been here before, and he doesn’t particularly like it. It’s basically just two armchairs placed across from each other — he thinks that maybe ‘interrogation room’ would be more fitting. 

Emil sits down first, and Otabek wavers only for a second before he decides to cooperate and take the other chair. Once he sits, he realizes how _tired_ he is. If he thought that the last five days of interviews and preparations have been tiring, nothing prepared him for this — nonstop socialization, pretending to be exactly something he’s _not_. His sister Inkar says he’s blunt to a fault, which he had never considered to be true until placed into this situation.

“How are you feeling?” Emil asks, looking ready for the cameras — soft smile and wide eyes.

“Tired,” Otabek answers without thinking. The slight narrowing of Emil’s eyes doesn’t escape him. “Um,” he tries again, “it’s been a long night — and everyone I’ve met has been so impressive.”

“Are you optimistic about this process?”

The questions go on like that. Otabek stumbles through his answers, trying his best to stay in the realm of coherency, even if he certainly lacks the element of verbosity that Emil would probably prefer. It’s a rough half-hour, but he at least knows exactly when the questions are done. Emil leans back in his chair, sighing.

“Let’s talk about the rose ceremony,” Emil says. His voice is quieter.

Otabek glances at the cameramen. He’s sure the cameras are still rolling, but the two men are distracted enough that he _almost_ feels comfortable.

“What I mean to say,” Emil continues after a minute of silence from Otabek, “is — well, I know you’ve been trained on this, but who are you going to eliminate?”

“I have to tell you?” Otabek asks.

He shrugs. “It would be _preferable_.”

Otabek knows this show doesn’t live in the grey range of ‘preferable’ — everything here is black or white. But Emil is smiling and friendly and Otabek can’t help but trust him against his better judgment.

“Do you _know_ who you want to eliminate?” Emil asks. “Or, like, do you need some advice?” He grins.

_Who you_ want _to eliminate_ , Otabek notes — not: _who you’re going to eliminate_. As always, the choices and freedom crumble a little more around him. He’s so used to it by now that the shock is just a dull throb. “There are restrictions?” he guesses.

“Let’s just say there are some people we’d like to keep around.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“I get my orders straight from Minako herself,” he says with that grin.

There’s a minute of silence. “I _do_ know who I’m sending home,” Otabek finally replies, staring evenly at Emil.

“Who?”

He doesn’t know if he’s imagining a new edge to Emil’s smile.

***

Yuri is standing on the extreme edge the second row — having decided to place himself there immediately upon seeing JJ on the opposite end. Leo is in front of him, with Guang Hong next to Leo. The tips of Guang Hong’s fingers are brushing against the petals of his first impression rose, and Yuri can’t help but grind his teeth.

He would deny it a million times, but he’s _nervous_.

Emil comes through the door, and every head turns towards him. Silence falls instantly, and Emil greets them with a smile. “Gentlemen, good evening.” A few people mumble a response back to him, but Yuri remains silent. “It’s been an incredible night. I know you’ve all had a chance to speak with Otabek, and I’m sure many of you have had the opportunity to start forming a strong connection with him. Unfortunately, there’s only ten roses to hand out.” He gestures to the plate lined with roses. “Guang Hong, you have a rose — obviously, nothing to worry about tonight. But, unfortunately, one of you will be sent home.”

He takes a deep breath. Yuri tries not to look at the cameras as the seconds tick by — it takes Yuri a minute to realize Emil is probably allowing time for reaction shots. He can’t help but send one quick glare at the nearest camera. Then, finally, Emil says, “Otabek.” He takes a step back as Otabek emerges.

“Well, everyone — I just want to say before we get started that it was great meeting everyone.” He sounds very stiff, which Yuri doesn’t blame him for. He vaguely wonders how much of his is rehearsed. “This really is more than I ever could’ve expected, and I want to thank everyone for putting up with me.” There’s some quiet laughter, which dies down immediately as Otabek picks up the first rose. He stares at it for a second before looking back up.

“Yuri,” Otabek says, and Yuri’s breath catches as Otabek makes eye contact with him.

Yuri hops down off the platform, not bothering to ask Leo to move, which earns a smile from Otabek. It vaguely registers that there’s some chattering coming from the other men, but he doesn’t give a fuck as he makes his way across the room to Otabek.

“Plisetsky, obviously,” Otabek says, sounding more amused than Yuri has ever heard him. Yuri can’t help but smile at that, too, glancing back to see that Yuuri had taken a step forward and is now getting back into place with his face flushed completely red.

Yuri finally makes it all the way to Otabek, who immediately asks, “Will you accept this rose?”

“Yes.”

Otabek reaches forward to place the rose, but Yuri designed the jacket himself and it doesn’t have one of those stupid, pointless button-holes where most men’s jackets do. Otabek pauses awkwardly, and they both start laughing quietly at the same time. “How about this?” Otabek whispers, and sticks the rose in Yuri’s pocket instead.

“Perfect,” Yuri says. Yuri is half-tempted to hug him, but he doesn’t know how Otabek would take that, so instead he just smiles and then turns around. He ignores all the eyes on him as he makes his way back to his place in the stands.

***

“Phichit,” Otabek says next. Leo glances over at Guang Hong just as he’s giving a pleased smile to the rose he’s wearing. _Cute_ , Leo can’t help but think, half-smiling. He looks behind him at Yuri, who looks happily unconcerned with the ceremony as he fiddles with his own rose. Leo hasn’t said much to Yuri. Yuri seems _fine_ , but Leo already thinks that they won’t have much to talk about — after all, Yuri doesn’t seem very interesting to even _talking_ to other people.

“Will you accept this rose?” Otabek asks, and Phichit says yes.

As Phichit makes his way back to his spot, Leo wonders if he should be more nervous — because he isn’t particularly nervous _at all_. He’s several people down from Yuuri, but even from here, Leo can tell he’s shaking like a leaf.

It isn’t that he doesn’t care or that this isn’t important to him. He really likes Otabek — and he has for a long time. But Otabek is nothing if not unapproachable, especially in the romantic sense. That was why Leo had been so excited when he heard that Otabek was coming on this show — that meant he _wanted_ someone. It had been easy for Leo to get himself on the show; when he’d asked, the producers had been ecstatic about it.

Sure, Leo has never _seen_ the show — even though his mother told him about a hundred times that he should at least watch last season for research. And, yeah, if he’d known that Otabek could show a moderate amount of interest in anything other than skating, maybe he would’ve made a move three years ago. So, okay, okay, maybe these aren’t exactly _ideal_ circumstances, but, well, he _talked_ to Georgi and Michele and JJ and so Leo is fairly secure that he isn’t in any real danger of going home tonight. And that’ll give him weeks (he assumes) to make a newfound _romantic_ impression on Otabek.

So, no, he isn’t nervous — as he’s said in several interviews — but it would still be _nice_ to have a rose sooner rather than later.

Okay, so maybe he’s _impatient_ to have a rose.

Just when he’s wondering what’s taking Otabek so long to call out the next name — though he has a feeling the constantly-shifting cameras have something to do with it — he says, “Leo.”

Leo grins and rushes forward.

“Will you accept this rose?” Otabek asks.

“Yeah.”

The second the rose is secured in his jacket, Leo pulls Otabek into a tight hug. Otabek hugs him back, but pulls back fairly quickly. It’s typical Otabek, so Leo doesn’t let that bother him as he turns around and walks back, grinning at Guang Hong, who grins back immediately.

Now that he has a rose, he can truly look forward to his time here. Earlier, Leo talked a P.A. into giving him his roommate assignment, and he was happy to hear it’s Guang Hong. He hasn’t shared the good news with Guang Hong, not wanting to distract him from that starry-eyed look he kept giving his first impression rose.

“JJ,” Otabek says next.

Leo looks up long enough to see JJ’s wide, almost arrogant grin as he strides up.

Seung-gil is next, once JJ returns to his place, now with a permanent grin on his face. Seung-gil is the complete opposite; his face doesn’t change at all, and his only response to Otabek’s proffered “Will you accept this rose?” is a clipped, “Yes.”

***

Yuuri is beginning to get nervous.

Okay, he admits to himself, he’s _been_ nervous. His sister would probably say he was _born_ nervous which… well, isn’t entirely inaccurate. He definitely didn’t come on this show with the expectation of falling in love, but Otabek seems like a good guy and he can’t imagine getting eliminated on the _first night_. Especially after all the work he did to get here — even outside of the application and interview process, just being stuck in that hotel room for a full four days was an experience he would never want to repeat.

“It was really fair of him,” JJ whispers loudly to Chris, “waiting to call me until fourth. Wants to make other people think they have a chance.”

Yuuri clenches his fists tries not to listen. Emil is down there whispering something in Otabek’s ear. He can’t help but let himself frantically think of what they could be talking about — it might be something as innocuous as names, but Yuuri can’t help but expect the worst.

“Five more roses,” Emil says, patting Otabek on the shoulder and then slips back out of sight.

There’s yet _another_ long pause before Otabek finally says, “Viktor.”

Yuuri takes a deep, stabilizing breath and gives a sidelong glance at Viktor as he gracefully extricates himself from the top row and walks over to Otabek. “Would you accept this rose?” he asks.

“Certainly,” Viktor says smoothly.

Yuuri briefly makes eye contact with Viktor as he heads back over to the others, but he immediately averts his gaze. If possible, Yuuri would’ve spent the last several hours staring at Viktor — not just because he’s even more beautiful in person, but just because Yuuri still can’t even believe he’s _real_. And really _here_.

Otabek calls Minami next. Minami is standing next to him, so Yuuri sees the exact second the grin spreads over his face. Yuuri tries to be happy that others are happy, instead of feeling like he’s imploding.

It doesn’t really work.

At least, he considers, he got to meet Viktor.

All the inconvenience was definitely a small price to pay for _that_. Before today, he definitely would’ve agreed to give up part of his soul for the honor. Sure, he came here because he wants his hotel line to have more brand awareness and name recognition with American audiences, but he certainly couldn’t have ever predicted Viktor.

“Michele,” Otabek says.

Michele is on Yuuri’s other side. He didn’t look particularly nervous and he doesn’t look very excited now. He walks up to Otabek, accepting the rose without a great deal of warmth and returns back to his place without seeming terribly impressed.

But Yuuri is _terrified_. Almost all the roses have been given out; he looks at the platter and there are only two left. Otabek takes one in his hand, and Yuuri gulps and looks up. His throat goes dry.

He’d thought for sure his name was called first, but of course he’d been idiotic enough to forget about the other Yuri — Yuri Plisetsky. Younger, hotter, better — just like everyone here (well, except the younger part). Yuuri blushed completely red for a full five minutes of the rose ceremony, just thinking about how he’d stepped forward when it hadn’t been his name called.

Now Yuuri searches his brain frantically, thinking about that one on one conversation he and Otabek had, trying to remember if he said something particularly dumb. Or offensive. Or boring. Or anything that could put him last on the list.

Or _off_ the list.

“Yuuri,” Otabek says.

Yuuri breathes a sigh of relief, waiting just half a second until Otabek makes eye contact with him. He doesn’t want to repeat the same mistake twice, even if he’s entirely too sure that Yuri Plisetsky already very much has a rose.

He walks forward, a fresh wave of embarrassment coming over him at how shaky his steps seem. This rose ceremony has lasted no more than thirty minutes, but he feels exhausted from it.

“Will you accept this rose?” Otabek says.

“Yes,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to be any louder than that.

Otabek slips the rose in his jacket, and Yuuri wavers for half a second on hugging him. Ultimately, he decides against it and just gives him a tentative smile before turning back around.

***

“Otabek. Gentlemen,” Emil says. “This is the final rose of the evening.”

Otabek takes a deep breath and picks up the last rose, trying to ignore the cameras. Otabek knows that only Chris and Georgi are left, both of whom look extremely nervous.

It’s been hours and he’s tired. This rose ceremony has lasted _far_ longer than it should have, since the cameras need to be reset and every single person needs a reaction shot before each name he calls. He feels like he’s playing god even though it’s just a stupid game with the grand prize being _him_ , something which he doesn’t think is particularly exciting to begin with.

Nor does he know if any of _them_ would find him a particularly good bachelor if it weren’t for the fact that he’s the only option being presented to them.

He’s well aware of the fact that he’s just met these men so he has no misapprehensions about breaking hearts tonight. But he still isn’t enjoying this at all. He’s met twelve men, about half of whom are interesting and half of whom he knows he could never develop an interest in no matter the romantic circumstances he’s going to be forced into in the coming weeks. 

But he knows there will be plenty of time for contemplation, so he shouldn’t prolong this already overdue rose. He takes another breath and says, “Chris.”

Chris runs forward, accepting the rose with a relieved smile. He hugs Otabek tightly, and Otabek does his best to hug him back, but he knows he’s still painfully awkward.

Chris walks back to the others and Emil steps out. “Georgi, please take a moment and say your goodbyes.”

Georgi doesn’t bother to say goodbye to his fellow contestants and instead saunters forward. Otabek braces himself as Georgi stops just in front of him. “Well,” Georgi says slowly. Otabek doesn’t know whether or not he’s imagining the tears in his eyes. “I thought as a fellow artist, you’d finally be the one to understand me. But I guess true art _is_ lonely, after all.”

“Um,” Otabek says, just as eloquently as always. _Um, what?_ he almost adds, but he suspects that wouldn’t go over well, especially because he’s now _sure_ that Georgi is tearing up.

“Maybe if you value a bunch of _riffraff peasants_ like this, then you really aren’t worth it,” he spits. Before Otabek can do more than blink, Georgi has already turned on his heel and is practically flying out the door.

Emil comes back and clasps his shoulder. “This is just the beginning of an emotional journey,” he says with a smile. It’s just the latest in the long line of things Otabek finds ominous. Maybe he’ll be desensitized eventually.

***

Emil sits down heavily next to Minako, who is sipping at some whiskey with a half-smile on her face. Her eyes are glued to the largest monitor, which is showing Georgi in the car.

“Successful?” he asks.

Her smile turns into a grin as she turns the sound up. He hears Georgi crying.

“I just thought he might be the one to understand,” Georgi is saying. His eyeliner is running in streaks down his face. “How could he meet _me_ and all of _them_ and decide that I’m not good enough in one night? First Anya and then — and then _this_?”

He starts to cry into his hands, and Emil can’t help but wonder how much Georgi is putting on for the camera. Emil is well-used to actors making their way onto the show, seeking out their five minutes of fame.

“He’s not a _great_ actor,” Minako says, echoing Emil’s thoughts. “But good enough for this show.” Her tone is as manically happy as it almost always is when someone gets eliminated.

“Same shit, different season,” Emil agrees, picking up her glass and taking a long drink. She rolls her eyes, takes another glass out from under her desk, and pours him his own.

***

Everyone is handed a glass of champagne. Emil reappears after about a half-hour — long enough for everyone to get a quick one on one interview in. Otabek somehow managed to say more than, _I’d really love to sleep_ , which he considered to be quite an accomplishment. Mila had higher expectations for him, which he’s very sure he failed to meet yet again.

As instructed, Otabek raises his glass. “To this season,” he says solemnly. “To all of you for making this journey with me.”

He makes eye contact with Yuri, who smirks at the trite speech. Otabek finds himself smiling back — once again feeling like they’re in on the same joke — and reaches out his glass. Everyone clinks glasses and drinks.

“Okay, _please_ tell me we can sleep now,” he hears Yuri snap at Mila the second he drains his glass.

Otabek bites back a laugh.

If this is his life now, at least Yuri’s around to keep it interesting.

 

* * *

_Next week, on The Bachelor…_

_When the contestants’ love is put to its first challenge, will everyone make it out with their egos intact? Or will new friends and foes emerge?_

_Each of the eleven remaining men want their chance to be chosen for the first one on one date with Otabek. Only one man will be lucky enough for the chance, but will he and Otabek be able to take this first step together?_

_(Featuring: The first kiss of the season. JJ and Yuri’s confrontation comes to blows — literally. Someone finds out Leo’s deepest secret. And Viktor’s_ real _reasons for being on the show.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my co-author and best friend Hannah! If anyone is wondering, we mutually plan, I do the writing, and she does the editing.
> 
> This chapter was a lot of set up, but future chapters will have a lot more romance. 
> 
> Everyone’s ages have been moved around. As far as the core characters, Otabek is 25, Yuri is 21, Yuuri is 27, Viktor is 29, Leo is 23, and Guang Hong is 24. If anyone wants to know other ages, let me know and I will answer and/or post something on tumblr. 
> 
> All the chapter titles will be from Taylor Swift songs due to Viktor basically being the male equivalent. This chapter is from New Romantics. (Yes, we know the line is technically “the lights and noise are blinding”, but let’s be honest, it really should be “the lights and boys are blinding”)
> 
> [My tumblr](http://bradley-martin.tumblr.com/)  
> [Hannah's tumblr](http://otabeksundercut.tumblr.com/)  
> [My twitter](https://twitter.com/alisondarr)  
> [Hannah's twitter](https://twitter.com/hannahthewriter)
> 
> Due to the length of the chapters and the fact that I work fulltime, updates will not be super frequent. Realistically at least three weeks between chapters. About 5K of chapter 2 is already written as of posting this. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Hannah has an Otayuri fic ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10569864)  
> [I have a Leoji fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10360422)
> 
>  
> 
> Other minor Bachelor-related things I wanted to bring up:  
> • I watched The Bachelor for the first time ever in preparation for writing this fic. I’ve now seen seasons 21 and 17 (i.e. Nick Viall and Sean Lowe’s seasons). Hannah has seen seasons 21 and 20 (Ben Higgins) and JoJo's season of The Bachelorette. We are both watching The Bachelorette now that it’s started up again.  
> • I also listen to a podcast called [Here to Make Friends](https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/here-to-make-friends-a-bachelor-recap-show/id995039015?mt=2), which is a recap podcast that also frequently has interviews with contestants. I’ve based certain background details on those interviews.  
> • We love Lifetime’s show UnREAL but aren’t basing anything off that. Are we maybe a little bit influenced by it? Probably.  
> • We’ve deviated from realism in certain cases (e.g. the number of contestants, the episode count, the time of year the show airs, the show airing week to week, the roommate situation, etc.) but the main ‘plot points’ of the show — like rose ceremonies, group dates, one on ones, two on ones, hometowns, fantasy suites — will definitely be present in this fic.  
> • Each chapter will be an episode of the show (and, other than episode one, usually spanning roughly a week of time). The fic is listed at ten chapters but we may add an epilogue. There will be no ‘Men Tell All’ chapter and probably no ‘After the Final Rose’ chapter. 
> 
> We’ve pretty carefully plotted this fic out. If you have any questions, please let us know, but hopefully most questions will be answered in future chapters. Reach out in the comments or on our tumblrs. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	2. these are the words I held back as I was leaving too soon

**Monday**

The car drops him off in front of the mansion, with a brusque “Good day” from the driver. That suits Otabek fine; he wouldn’t _hate_ idle chit-chat but he doesn’t mind the silence. He’s already tired. It might only be day two of the show, but he’s already sleep deprived _and_ he spent his allotted four hours of practice time going through his potential routines for next season. It’s less than he would practice in the _real_ world, but it’s more than enough to tire him out. He’s on the tail end of twenty-five — the age when he feels his body responding a little slower to his jumps. He’s breathing harder from things that wouldn’t have even winded him before. Sometimes a shock strikes through him when that happens, but he always manages to push those thoughts away. Sure, it’s harder to get sponsorships at this age, especially with fifteen- and sixteen-year-old skaters coming down the pike — not to mention that _they’re_ all from countries with better funding than Kazakhstan. The world’s excitement for the older Otabek Altin is barely there anymore, and the enthusiasm was never that great to begin with.

So he plans to keep pushing through his workouts and his coach-less training, because if he thinks too long, he’ll start considering his own mortality. And that kind of thing seems especially maudlin when surrounded by this mansion. None of it is his taste, but something about the twinkle lights makes everything far too sentimental in the first place.

Slinging his bag more securely over his shoulder, he starts walking towards the door. Even if this season ends up being the end of the line for him, no one can say he didn’t give it his all. He’s had a good, long career in a country with an underfunded skating community. He’s even selling his soul to this show in hopes that it might help him prolong his career, at least through the 2018 Olympics.

If nothing else, he has a feeling he’ll grow to appreciate this time of the morning — _morning_ being a loose term, in this case meaning well after noon, considering they didn’t go to sleep until dawn. But all the producers are gone, or at least hidden out somewhere. The contestants are asleep or crowded in the kitchen, neither of which will affect him when he swings around to his mercifully separate wing of the mansion.

Nothing is being asked of him. Yet.

It _will_ be asked of him. Tomorrow is the day of the first group date, and Otabek has no idea what that entails other than the meeting he had last night to choose his first one-on-one date activity. They _said_ it was a choice, but he seemed to have very little say in the matter. Only one option was given to him, and he’s fairly certain he would’ve needed to flat-out refuse to so much as be provided with another option — and even that probably would’ve come with strings attached. He probably would’ve pushed hard for something if he’d felt like it, but he has a feeling he has limited pull and wants to save it for when it truly matters.

He’s reaching for the doorknob when he hears a soft voice. He can barely hear it, but he thinks it’s Russian. Freezing, he feels his bag slip down his arm, but he manages to catch it before it clatters to the stone. He sets it down gently and goes to investigate, having a strong suspicion about the only person who it could be.

The shock of blond hair is the first thing he sees. Otabek was correct in assuming it could only be Yuri. He’s sitting on the ground, the expensive suit he was wearing last night has been swapped out for a black long-sleeved shirt with a roaring lion on it. Otabek assumes — despite no evidence — that he must be wearing very short shorts, but the oversized shirt is pooling on his lap where a grey cat is perched. Yuri’s hair is up in a bun that looks so messy Otabek wonders what’s holding it in place.

“You okay, buddy?” Yuri asks the cat in the same quiet Russian. He holds an outstretched hand just out of the cat’s reach. The cat considers his hand for a moment before reaching up and tugging his wrist down. The cat presses his head into Yuri’s palm, and the sound that comes out of Yuri’s mouth was startlingly beautiful. A quiet laugh, pure and infectious.

Otabek feels a smile stretch over his face. For another couple seconds, he teeters on whether or not to join in — he doesn’t want to interrupt the magic but does desperately wants to be _part_ of it. Yuri scratches the cat behind the ear and Otabek can’t handle it another second longer; he walks forward.

Yuri looks up, face twisted into a furious glare. Otabek stops dead, but the anger on Yuri’s face dulls. He just looks confused now, but Otabek doesn’t miss how Yuri’s hand curls around the cat’s back. “Sorry,” he says, because it seems like the only response to that _look_ — Otabek doesn’t consider himself a weak man, but he feels like he could be torn to shreds with just those green eyes.

Yuri turns back around, and Otabek instantly regrets coming here and ruining that look on his face. Still, Otabek ventures forward and crouches down next to Yuri, feeling slightly emboldened by Yuri’s lack of apparent rage.

“Is she a stray?” he asks.

Yuri shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve been here long enough to tell the difference. But she seems like a stray.” He pets her under the chin, and from this distance Otabek can hear the soft rumble of her purr.

“You have a cat,” Otabek says, and it isn’t a question. Yuri doesn’t say anything, but Otabek feels his response in the way he tenses, in the way the corners of his mouth turn down minutely: _I miss her_.

The silence isn’t oppressive, the way Otabek might have thought. Yuri seems content keeping the cat company, and Otabek is content keeping _him_ company. He vaguely thinks about his gym bag lying forgotten where someone could trip over it right outside the front door, but then reaches forward to run his hand over the cat’s soft fur. Yuri’s eyes meet his. Otabek pulls his hand back, wondering if he encroached on something sacred for Yuri. But that look in his eyes doesn’t seem all that different than that soft way he was first staring at the cat, and Otabek feels his mouth go dry. 

“Shouldn’t you, like, be practicing? You’re not taking next season off, are you?” Yuri asks, saving Otabek the trouble of trying to string a sentence together.

“I, uh, just did. I just got back.”

“You go alone?”

“That’s the rule.”

Yuri smirks. “You don’t seem like much of a rule-follower.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle but chooses not to comment. Under normal circumstances, he would certainly agree. But in the back of his mind, he can’t help but think of how even this _conversation_ with Yuri is certainly off-limits. He wonders if he’s becoming weak or if he’s playing it smart.

“It must be nice,” Yuri adds, filling in Otabek’s silence. “To get out of here. I have a feeling this is definitely going to get old after a while.”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees, sounding stupid even to himself. And then the conversation comes to a screeching halt. The silence does feel awkward and oppressive now, and Otabek is very sure it’s his own fault. He envies Yuri and the cat for having something to do.

“I should eat,” Otabek finally says.

Yuri looks a little annoyed at that, but Otabek doesn’t know why. “Whatever,” he says succinctly, turning back to the cat. Otabek wavers for a second, then sighs and turns around. He tells himself that Yuri is just one of the dozen men he met yesterday, not someone worth inciting the wrath of a producer for, especially at this stage of the game.

***

Yuri finally deigns to come back inside, knowing he’s missing a meeting. He slips into the room, giving a nod when the other ten men look up at him. The chairs and couches have been pushed into a shape that seems vaguely circular. Phichit, who appears to have taken on the role as de facto leader based on the fact that he’s next to a white board wielding a marker, fixes him with a sour look. JJ glares. Yuri glares right back.

He sits down on a couch next to Guang Hong, who inches a little closer to Leo to make room.

“We’re discussing house rules,” Guang Hong whispers. Yuri nods, and a second later Phichit says, “We’re deciding on house rules.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says.

Yuri notices that there’s a P.A. sitting nearby but there aren’t any cameras. He rubs his hands over his eyes, wondering why in the world they’re subjecting themselves to this if it isn’t even important enough to be on camera. If Otabek hadn’t left so quickly, he could’ve wasted the rest of the afternoon outside. He could’ve lied and said he was sick in his room all day; Seung-gil is his roommate, and Yuri suspects that he will continue to be equally as taciturn as he has been so far, so the lie probably wouldn’t get out.

Even if it did, Yuri doesn’t care what any of these guys think.

He sinks lower in his seat, wondering if he can slip into a nap. Probably not, considering the new — and _not_ improved — layout of the furniture. “I have some specific… health needs,” Chris is saying, “and I’d really ask that no one touches my water.”

Phichit nods and writes that on the large board. Among the other items currently there are: _Do your own dishes_ and _Update the grocery list if anything is running low_. Yuri rolls his eyes. He only lasted a year in college but that list is giving him unnecessary flashbacks to his solitary year suffering through dorm life.

He hadn’t lasted long in college. Sure, he’d agreed to go because the London College of Fashion because of the prestige, but the only thing he hated more than the city of London itself was trying to sit through classes. That was where he’d met Yuuko there, who was finishing up her degree. He’d been shocked but ecstatic when she offered to move to Moscow with him to launch his business. The fact that her recent husband, Takeshi, also agreed to come along was also a fringe benefit, not just because of his legendary tattoo skills.

“What kind of water?” Minami asks. He’s perched next to the fireplace, looking enthralled. Yuri wants to groan — even seeing Minami in person is enough to make him hate Millennials, and he _is_ one himself.

“It’s Swiss,” Chris says, by way of explanation, grinning.

“O… _kay_ …” Phichit agrees, his marker hovering over the board as though wondering whether he should leave it there. Yuri kind of wishes he’d cross it out, just to see the resulting look on Chris’s face. At least he’s wearing a shirt today. But Phichit leaves it and straightens up. “What else?”

There’s silence for a couple minutes. Yuri wonders if it’s possible to him to sleep here, but before he gets too far into his calculations of whether or not he could compact his six-foot-one body into his one couch cushion, Guang Hong speaks up.

“Um, this is sort of copying another season—”

“How do you know?” JJ interrupts.

“Let him talk,” Yuri snaps. He gives exactly zero fucks about Guang Hong but does enjoy seeing JJ look pissed off. Sure enough, JJ leans back and glowers.

“Um,” Guang Hong says again, his face tinged pink, “basically, if you insult another contestant during an interview, you’re supposed to tell them about it afterwards. You know, to avoid awkwardness and stuff. Airing grievances. That kind of thing.”

Phichit is grinning. “A _great_ idea, Guang Hong. _Wow_ , that really blows things _wide_ open.” He turns around and starts scribbling furiously.

“Like, how is that _enforced_?” JJ asks.

“Honor system,” Leo says, and Guang Hong gives him a smile.

Yuri knows immediately that he isn’t planning to follow that rule — unless, of course, he has something shitty to say about JJ, which he’ll be happy to report back immediately.

“Okay, what else?” Phichit asks.

“I know it isn’t as _interesting_ ,” Yuuri says, “but what about a rule about _making_ food?”

“Sure, sure. What specifically?”

Yuri stands up with the aim to sneak off, but of course Phichit doesn’t miss a thing. “Where are you _going_?” he asks, his overly-friendly voice slipping into something else altogether.

“I dunno, take a nap. Or something.” _Anything but this_ , he somehow manages to avoid saying.

Phichit fixes him with a look that could probably scare a man who actually cares, but it washes over Yuri. He turns around to go to the stairs, but then a camera comes into the room. And another camera. And then a third. Yuri doesn’t know what’s happening but thinks it’s probably a good idea to at least wait it out. He sits back down just as Emil comes into the room, a wide smile on his face. He’s just in a flannel shirt and jeans today; Yuri doesn’t know how he can stand the heat.

The P.A. whisks away the board with the house rules on it, and Phichit gives it a wistful look. Emil looks around, grinning at each of them. “So you all survived, I see?” There are a couple indulgent chuckles — and an eyeroll from Yuri — and then he immediately continues, “Well, let me tell you about this week. There are going to be two dates.”

At first Yuri thinks the pause is just for dramatic effect, but then he notices the cameras moving around. It’s a good three minutes until Emil speaks again.

“First, a group date. Then a one-on-one. Does that sound good?”

Everyone agrees, and Yuri once again feels like they’re still in school.

“The group date is tomorrow, so I’ll see you all then!” He sounds truly excited as he bounds off back through the mansion. Yuri sighs and leans back on the couch.

“When do we get the date card?” he hears Leo ask Guang Hong, who Yuri is beginning to realize must be some sort of expert on this stupid show. What a thing to waste brain capacity on.

“Not until tomorrow, I’m pretty sure.”

Yuri sighs and then makes up his mind to slip out of the room, not bothering to pause as someone calls his name.

* * *

**Tuesday**

They’re all gathered in the living room again when there’s a knock on the door. Leo is the first one up. He bolts over to the door and grabs the date card, tugging it open. Normally he wouldn’t be quite so concerned, but JJ seems to be in a fighting mood and Leo would rather not prolong finding out whether or not he’s losing his chance at a one-on-one.

He reads: “Let’s get to know each other by putting our love to the test.” He looks up at Guang Hong, who has assured him that he has watched every single season of _The Bachelor_ and _The Bachelorette_ with his cousin.

“Competition time,” Guang Hong says quietly.

Leo pauses, nodding. He’s already wishing he’d interrogated Guang Hong more about the workings of this show — he didn’t even know what a competition would _look_ like in this arena.  

“Get _on_ with it,” Yuri growls.

Leo looks back down. “Viktor, Yuuri K, Seung-gil, Chris, Yuri P, JJ, Michele, Minami, and… Phichit.” He blinks and looks up. No one looks very surprised, other than Guang Hong. He takes a few steps over and shows him.

“That leaves both of you,” Chris says, leaning back in his seat and taking a swig of his mimosa. “I guess one of you doesn’t get a date this week.”

***

A P.A. told them to dress for working out, so Yuri donned a pair of leopard print leggings and a hot pink shirt that isn’t quite long enough. He stared at his reflection for a second before shrugging at himself, yanking his ponytail a little tighter. Since he had nothing better to do all morning, he involved several braids in putting his hair up. His outfit earned a couple glares when the other contestants saw him, but he isn’t about to start wearing boring athletic clothes just because everyone else is.

Now they’re standing on a grassy field. Yuri isn’t sure where in California they are — he just knows that he can only see _green_ and they lost any evidence of the ocean not long into the drive. There are about a million cameras around but no producer has said a word to them since the lightning round of interviews when they first got here.

Then Chris nudges JJ, pointing off to the other side of the field, where Emil is approaching. He throws them all a wave and the cameras start moving. Otabek isn’t far behind him.

“Well, guys — a beautiful day out, right?” Emil asks, that omnipresent grin even wider than usual. Yuri idly wonders if he’s the type that enjoys being outside. Yuri doesn’t understand people like that; especially now, when he’s just wondering if his sunscreen will hold up against the oppressive sunshine. He eyes the crowd for a P.A., wondering how quickly more can be attained for him if he throws a fit.

Then Otabek meets his eyes, and Yuri unintentionally smiles. Yuri wonders if he’s imagining Otabek looking him up and down.

“We’ll have an expert out here in a minute to explain the rules, but first, teams,” Emil says. “The red team — JJ, Minami, Phichit, Mickey, and Yuri P.” It takes Yuri a full five seconds to realize that the name Mickey is referring to Michele, which makes it far too long until he realizes that he’s on a team with JJ. He stifles a groan.

“And the blue team — Viktor, Chris, Seung-gil, Yuuri _K_ , and… Otabek.”

Otabek doesn’t look shocked at all by this revelation, but Yuri has been so distracted by everything else that he didn’t even consider the fact that they weren’t an even number. He glares as Otabek takes a couple steps closer to Chris, which is especially horrifying when JJ starts to wander closer to Yuri.

“And what’s the _sport_?” JJ asks, gesturing around. There are six four-foot wide and six-foot tall protective barriers scattered around — three on each side – but other than the white chalk rectangle outlining the playing field and a smaller rectangle in the dead center, there aren’t any other markers. Yuri isn’t a person who likes most sports, especially not ones that involves _teams_ , and so he’s somewhat relieved knowing he isn’t the only one who finds this incomprehensible.

“Archery tag,” Emil announces, grinning, as though that clears anything up. “And Otabek will join the winning team for a cocktail party tonight. The other team, unfortunately, will be heading back to the mansion early.”

An overly-enthusiastic referee named Geoffrey is wearing a shirt that has the words “ARCHERY TAG” plastered across the front. He explains the so-called simple rules with more hand gestures than Yuri particularly thinks are necessary. But, Yuri admits to himself, the rules _are_ pretty simple — stay on your side, the middle rectangle is a safe area, and you can use the arrows to hit anyone anywhere on their body. The objective is even simpler: the first team to get out the five members of the other team wins.

They’re shown the foam-covered arrows and allowed about an hour to take practice shots — each of them interrupted at least once for an interview. Even Yuri had to admit that it was pretty fun, and his aim was spot-on by the end.

The teams huddle up on opposite ends of the field. Yuri slings his bow over one shoulder, but stays a couple feet away from his group. The circle has an empty spot left open for him, but they already don’t seem terribly surprised by his behavior.

“Okay, we can do this,” JJ says, as though he’s been elected leader — which he decidedly has _not_. Yuri would gladly vote for _anyone_ over JJ — even Phichit. “I say we get Viktor out first—”

“ _Viktor_?” Yuri interrupts, breaking his vow of silence. “Viktor is just some stupid singer. Otabek is an _athlete_. Like, Olympic-level.”

JJ rolls his eyes. “Otabek won’t even be _trying_ hard. _Obviously_ he wants that cocktail party with _my_ team.”

Yuri laughs, finally sauntering forward those last few feet to take his place alongside the rest of them. Minami looks terrified, Michele looks bored, and Phichit sighs. “Um, guys—” Phichit says.

“Yeah?” Yuri interrupts, still glaring at JJ. “Is that why you got, like, the _seventh_ rose? I’m sure he’s really all hot and bothered to have another conversation with your boring ass—”

A quick whistle blows. “All players must start from behind the white lines on their end of the field,” says Geoffrey. There are a couple other people patrolling near the edges of the field that must be helping him.

Both teams line up. The arrows are scattered in the safe area in the middle of the field. Yuri crouches down, trying not to think about who his team consists of and instead tries to focus purely on winning. It’s day _three_ , and he doesn’t want to already be at a disadvantage.

The whistle blows again and they all launch forward. Yuri manages to grab three arrows and slips behind the nearest barrier. He loads his bow and looks around. There are already a few arrows flying around. He slinks out and sees Chris doing the same on the other side. He takes aim, seeing that Chris’s eyes are locked on Phichit.

 _Three, two, one_.

Yuri shoots, and it strikes Chris squarely in the side. He gasps, and Yuri can’t help but laugh. Otabek pokes his head out, and Yuri jumps back behind the barrier, the arrow going harmlessly past him.

“Nice!” Phichit calls, and Yuri catches sight of Chris leaving the field.

He grins.

***

It’s a bloodbath.

First Chris got taken out, and Phichit got Seung-gil not long after. To be fair, Seung-gil had seemed fairly apathetic about the whole thing. Their team managed to get Michele out. Viktor shot him, but Michele seemed about as concerned as Seung-gil, and immediately took his place next to Emil, barely glancing at the field since.

Yuuri has peeked out from the barrier a few times, but between Yuri and JJ, he’s lucky to get a full glance at the opposing team before ducking back to where he’s safe. The arrows zoom by him, and he tries not to wonder about how much they’ll hurt, even with the foam tip.

Otabek is behind the barrier to his left, while Viktor is behind the one on Yuuri’s right. He puts his arrow into place and then darts out, sending a clean shot at Minami. Yuuri doesn’t even see if it lands, because he notices Yuri on the other side — out of Viktor’s line of sight — lining up a kill shot for Viktor. Yuuri doesn’t have a second to think — he reaches out and grabs Viktor, yanking his shirt. Viktor stumbles, a shocked look on his perfect face, and then with another tug from Yuuri, plants onto the ground. The arrow zooms straight past both of them.

Yuuri exhales, but yanks on Viktor’s arm. Yuri’s face is _pissed_ — like, a whole new _level_ of pissed — and he lines up another shot. “Come _on_ ,” Yuuri insists. “Otabek, _Yuri_ ,” he says in case Otabek can get a shot in.

Viktor looks up at him, and Yuuri almost gets lost at being _this close_ to those legendary blue eyes. No photo has ever done them justice. His brain is all but wiped blank, but luckily Viktor scrambles up and shoves them both back into the protective reach of the barrier. The arrows flies harmlessly by them, right where Viktor had been just a second ago.

Viktor’s arms are on either side of Yuuri, whose already-pounding heart speeds up even more. Viktor has no right to make shorts and a t-shit look that good. His bangs are secured back by a bobby pin, and Yuuri is only an couple inches away from his eyes. His brain all but implodes.

“You _saved_ me?” Viktor asks, mouth popping open.

Yuuri flushes. It’s a bit too much for the world to ask him to be able to handle _all_ this at once _and_ still form a coherent response to any word out of Viktor’s mouth.

“Um,” he says. “Well… yeah.”

Viktor laughs and drops his arms. “Thanks.”

***

Yuri wants to _kill_ JJ. First they lost Michele, which was a foregone conclusion. JJ had a clear shot at Viktor, but he missed it and instead they lost Minami — who, admittedly, wasn’t particularly helpful despite his very loud enthusiasm, but that doesn’t stop Yuri from being pissed. Yuri, personally, almost got Yuuri twice and Otabek once, but JJ knocked into him once and shouted at him twice — neither of which were exactly helpful when there’s never more than a second or two of opportunity.

Yuri doesn’t know how long Phichit will last, and he doesn’t have a second to calculate odds when Viktor takes a step out. Yuri has a clear shot, and jumps out to go in for the kill. Just then, JJ shoots at him instead, even though his angle is completely wrong — even a moron like him _should_ be able to see that. And sure enough, the arrow glides to a harmless stop several feet away from Viktor, who is already long gone.

“That was _mine_ ,” Yuri snaps, turning to JJ.

JJ is grinning with his back to the barricade. “If he was _yours_ , why isn’t he _out_?”

“I could’ve taken that whole _team_ down by now if you didn’t keep fucking me over!”

“Uh, guys—” Phichit tries.

“You’d be a lost little puppy without me, Plisetsky.”

Yuri feels himself snap.

He’s never cared about a team sport before, but he knows he wants to _kill_ JJ.

If he ripped the foam tip off this arrow, would there be a normal arrow that would allow him to just stab JJ?

Could be worth a try.

“Fuck you,” he growls, another idea popping into his head.

Not even stopping to think about what surely are the long list of _cons_ in this situation, Yuri grabs an arrow and shoots JJ.

It hits him point-blank, squarely in the center of his chest.

JJ looks up at Yuri, eyes huge with disbelief.

“You’re _out_ ,” Yuri snaps, a maniacal grin spreading across his face. “Now get off my fucking field.”

***

The game was briefly held up by a discussion between Geoffrey and Emil about whether or not JJ was really out. It was ultimately decided that he _was_. Otabek knows he probably should have protested, but he admittedly was having too much fun watching the myriad of emotions cross Yuri’s face while JJ was talking to him.

Otabek was pulled away for an interview during the time out, and it was all he could do to keep himself from laughing. Even five minutes later, he wasn’t sure what answers he gave, other than at one point saying, _Yuri really thinks outside the box_. His only regret is that it all happened behind the opposing barriers so he didn’t get to see it first-hand.

The arrows get lined up in the safe area again. Yuri and Phichit are on one side, with Otabek, Yuuri, and Viktor are on the other. Otabek makes eye contact with Yuri during that immeasurable second before the whistle blows, and Yuri gives him a quick smirk. Otabek can’t help but return it. Then Yuri is grinning, and Otabek tries hard for the thousandth time to keep himself from laughing.

The whistle blows, and Otabek is the first one to grab a handful of arrows and retreat back to the protective reach of one of the dividers.

To say that his heart wasn’t in the first half of this game would be a massive understatement; he hadn’t known what this game was supposed to be proving about these men in the _first_ place, and he certainly didn’t want to take part in the madness regardless. But he was, as always, forced in on their plans, and he’d stopped complaining. He hasn’t caused any of the two – now _three_ — outs for the other team.

But now he finds himself reinvigorated. He takes aim at Phichit and misses by just a few inches — he probably would’ve landed it, but Yuri got a shot off at him at the same second and messed up his aim. At least he managed to avoid getting out.

Viktor and Yuuri are frantically trying to get Yuri out, but he’s playing too smart. For a couple long minutes, Phichit and Yuri disappear together behind the middle barrier and Otabek is sure they’re strategizing, because only about thirty seconds after Otabek spots Yuri again, Phichit manages to get a hit in on Viktor.

“I guess you couldn’t save me every time,” he says to Yuuri, but he doesn’t sound at all unhappy.

Otabek runs to the barrier where Yuuri is standing. Yuuri looks surprised, distracted for a minute by an arrow meant for Otabek flying by. “Okay, we have to get out Phichit,” Otabek says quietly. “I’ll go back to the other side and draw him out and then you—”

“No,” Yuuri interrupts. He looked a little spacey when Otabek started talking, but now his face is set in hard lines. “You’re the better shot. _I’ll_ draw him out.”

“No—” But before he can get more than one word out, Yuuri is already sprinting to the barrier on the opposite edge. Otabek switches gears immediately, his arrow at the ready and steps just far back enough to see the other side. Sure enough, Phichit pops out and Otabek shoots. His shot lands, and he has a moment of elation before he realizes that Yuuri was shot, too. He sees a flash of a grin on Yuri’s face before he disappears back to where Otabek can’t see him.

Now it’s just the two of them.

***

Yuri yanks his ponytail tighter and then grabs an arrow from the ground next to him. The usefulness of his group will surely be overstated in interviews and probably even more so in the TV edit, but he _does_ find it more difficult without someone else to distract the other team — whether they were being intentional or not. He’s just met Otabek but Yuri knows he’s too cautious to make an easy mistake. They’ve been stagnating for five minutes, barely even getting a shot in on the other person.

Yuri’s strategy is just flitting between barriers, hoping that if he does it enough, he might confuse Otabek into making a mistake.

Otabek takes a step out, and Yuri shoots. The arrow just misses him.

“Fuck,” he growls, leaning down carefully to grab another arrow.

“You got this!” Phichit yells to him from the side. Yuri gives him a look that isn’t overtly unfriendly, which is certainly the best he can do under these circumstances — and _most_ circumstances, honestly.

Then he takes a deep breath. Time to end the stalemate.

He takes a step out and waits. And waits.

Then Otabek pops out.

Yuri drops to the ground, shooting an arrow at the same time. He’s suddenly _very_ glad for his failed ballet career. It’s quite a risk — but a calculated one. And it hits Otabek in his thigh, and the arrow Otabek shot soars harmlessly over his head.

Time freezes for a second, and then Otabek drops his bow.

Yuri grins and slings his bow over his shoulder as he stands up. Otabek walks into the safe zone in the middle of the field, and Yuri follows suit. He and Otabek stare at each other for a second, Otabek countering Yuri’s grin with a completely blank expression on his face. Yuri takes a chance and holds his hand out to shake with Otabek — that _is_ what sports people do, right? — and Otabek hesitates for a second before shaking back.

The field erupts around them, but Yuri just notice that expression on Otabek’s face turning into a smile. Then a grin. Then suddenly he’s laughing hysterically, pulling his hand away from Yuri’s to cover his face with both hands.

Yuri takes a step closer, feeling himself grinning, too. “ _What_?” he asks.

“I can’t _believe_ you shot _JJ_ ,” Otabek says between laughs.

Yuri bursts out laughing, too.

***

Leo hears the piano. He didn’t even know there _was_ a piano, but he knows that he and Guang Hong are the only ones left in the mansion. Everyone else, including seemingly all the production staff, packed up and left in the early hours of the morning. When Guang Hong said he was going for a swim and asked Leo if he wanted to join, Leo refused as politely as possible and hasn’t seen him since.

But now Leo races down the stairs and through the house, finally finding the piano in a sitting room he hadn’t even known existed. He freezes in the doorway, trying not to make a sound as Guang Hong finishes his song. Leo considers himself sort of a music expert, but classical music is definitely a weak point for him, so he doesn’t know the song. He _does_ know it’s beautiful, though.

Guang Hong is still _shirtless_ , hair wet from the pool. Goggles and pink swim cap tossed on the couch, beach towel spread over the wooden piano bench. Leo can’t help but find it an odd setup, but he wouldn’t be able to interrupt Guang Hong’s playing even if he truly wanted to — it’s been ages since he heard real _music_.

Guang Hong is a good roommate. He’s fairly quiet but luckily not exactly shy. Leo isn’t sure what causes his hair-trigger blush, but it’s a puzzle he’s more than willing to try to solve — after all, there isn’t much to think about around here. Still, Leo thinks he’s been a good roommate to Guang Hong, too. They stick to each other like glue, and not even begrudgingly like Chris and JJ seem to; those two complain about each other constantly despite the fact that they seem to spend a decent amount of time together around the mansion.

Guang Hong finishes his song with a sigh.

“I like it,” Leo says.

Guang Hong gasps and springs off the piano bench. “Oh, God,” he mutters, leaning against the piano and closing his eyes tightly for a second. He opens them again, his whole face flushing when he makes eye contact with Leo. “I finished swimming and didn’t realize there was a piano in this house. I saw it and, uh… made an impulse decision.”

Leo grins. “I really _did_ like it.” He goes to sit down on the other end of the piano bench. “Did you have a good swim?” he asks. He can’t help but look at Guang Hong, shocked in spite of himself that Guang Hong is the long, lean kind of muscular — Leo would’ve assumed he wasn’t muscular at all.

Guang Hong blushes all over again, grabbing the towel off the piano bench to drape it over his shoulders. Then he sits back down, this time on the extreme opposite end of the bench. There’s still only a couple inches of space between them. Leo bites back a laugh, not wanting to embarrass him more, but he once again can’t help thinking: _Cute_.

“Um, yeah,” Guang Hong finally answers. “You should’ve come.”

“Oh,” Leo says, this time being the one to avoid eye contact. “Um… I don’t really _like_ water.”

Guang Hong chuckles, and Leo wonders if he thinks he’s exaggerating. Leo couldn’t be _further_ from exaggerating, but he just waits for Guang Hong to talk again. Guang Hong is easy to trust and easy to get along with. It’s something he normally doesn’t tell anyone, but they are _roommates_ , after all. And friends.

Guang Hong grabs one end of the towel and runs it through his hair. Clearly he doesn’t know the gravity of what Leo just said. Finally, he says, “Well, at least once a season the cocktail party gets turned into a pool party, so you might want to get over it sometime soon.” Leo’s eyes widen, and he meets his eyes, shocked. “Um,” Guang Hong continues, “plus we’re definitely going to go somewhere tropical. I mean, _I_ might not last that long, but you _definitely_ will. And it would be kind of hard to avoid water in, like, the Caribbean or wherever.”

Maybe he _should_ have watched some of the show like his mom kept telling him. The color is completely drained out of his face, and he finally admits quietly, “I’m _terrified_ of water.”

***

“Why did you shoot JJ?” Mila asks.

She’s spent the last twenty minutes asking a bunch of boring questions about the game, but judging by that glint in her eyes, Yuri knows everything has been leading up to this. “JJ was in my way,” Yuri says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. “He kept getting in the way of my shots and screwing me over. It was better for the _team_ if he wasn’t there anymore.” _I don’t give a fuck about the team but—_ he wants to add, but he manages to avoid it.

“You really seemed annoyed by him.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, he was being fucking _annoying_.”

“Don’t you think it would’ve been better for the team? You know, if you’d had a full roster?”

“I just said it _wouldn’t_ have been. And I _won_.”

“But don’t you think it’ll make things awkward around the other guys?”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?”

“Look,” he finally snaps. “I _won_. I get more time with Otabek. The only bad thing is that JJ gets to go, too.” He pauses then adds, “I am _not_ here to make friends, okay?”

She leans back in her chair, grinning wildly. He would never admit it, but it sends a chill down his spine.  

***

The winning team gets taken to a hotel and told to get ready for the cocktail party with Otabek. Several hours pass, showers and debates over clothing interrupted with impossibly long interviews. Yuri knows his was easily a full hour, and JJ was gone at least as long. Yuri is _very_ sure JJ must’ve been talking shit about him, but — contrary to the rules set just days ago — JJ isn’t keeping him apprised of any of it.

Then the limo appears again and they all pile in. Phichit does a good job of making pleasant conversation with everyone, with the only holdout — as always — being Yuri, who steadfastly gazes out the window. He’s wearing a black and white striped suit jacket, a pale grey vest underneath, and black pants. He feels a little bit armorless without any animal print on — something that Yuuko would definitely laugh at him about.

Yuri spends the twenty minutes of the car ride wondering if he could ever pull off a light blue suit like Phichit has on. He ultimately decides on _no_ , and by that time, the car rolls to a stop in front of a fancy nightclub. Yuri feels himself grinning in spite of himself, but his hopes at having a chance to dance with Otabek are immediately dashed when Mila ushers them into a small elevator and takes them straight to the rooftop deck.

There’s _no_ music here, but they each immediately have a flute of champagne shoved at them. The place is decked out in lights and black furniture. Yuri can tell everything is ultra-expensive and looks straight out of an interior design magazine, but he’s extremely distracted by the distant vibration under his feet of the nightclub below them. He aches to be down there instead of up here — sure to experience another dozen or so painful conversations.

“To being the winning team,” Phichit says by way of a toast, extending his glass out to them.

They clink glasses and sip at their champagne. There’s yet another minute of awkward silence before Otabek walks in. Yuri smiles, as relieved for a change of pace as he is just to see Otabek. He’s nearest to Otabek, and he doesn’t miss the way Otabek reaches out almost to touch his arm before letting it drop.

They settle into the nearby sectional. Yuri tries his luck and sits so close to Otabek that their legs are touching, but Otabek doesn’t go so far as to even inch away. Yuri tries to hide a smile by taking another drink, not missing JJ’s glare and even the way Phichit’s eyebrows raise.  

“I’m really glad you’re all here,” Otabek says. “It was, uh, a really good game.” His glances at Yuri, eyes crinkling in amusement, and Yuri just smirks in response. “But you guys were definitely the better team. And, uh, I look forward to getting to know you better.”

He stands up and asks, “Michele, would you like to talk first?”

Michele nods and follows him. There are several feet of space between them, so Yuri once again marks Michele off as _not a threat_. He wishes he could say the same for everyone here.

There’s more silence for a few minutes. Yuri’s come to expect Phichit to fill in the awkward silences, but instead he gets up and goes to take photos of the LA skyline. Minami follows behind him, talking a mile a minute. Yuri is relieved when they’re far enough away that Minami is just background noise.

JJ, meanwhile, turns to Yuri with a frown on his face. “Look, I have to say something,” he says.

“No you don’t,” Yuri responds automatically.

He rolls his eyes. “Look, _Yuri_.” Yuri feels himself frowning at that condescending way JJ says his name. “I, frankly, just think you aren’t here for the right reasons.”

“ _Me?_ ” Yuri exclaims, leaning forward. He wishes that this could be the moment — that their passive-aggressive taunts could turn truly aggressive; he doesn’t care about the cameras, but he _does_ care about Otabek seeing him make a scene. So he tries to keep his blood from boiling as he counters, “You’re obviously only here because you want to date someone who’s _famous_.”

“And you _don’t?”_

“I’m _already_ famous, JJ.”

JJ looks disgusted, and Yuri grins. “If you think that dressing like you did at archery tag is going to get Otabek to notice you, then you’re a goddamn moron.”

Yuri laughs and leans back into the couch. He _knows_ he dresses in a way that isn’t always socially acceptable and certainly tends to garner glares from those who dress more traditionally — JJ is wearing a black button-down and black pants. Truly uninspired. But Yuri doesn’t need a mirror to tell him that he _always_ looks good.

And he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Otabek has been looking at him.

“I mean,” JJ continues, not deterred by Yuri’s apparent apathy, “maybe Otabek let you win because you were dressed like that, but in the long run, I wouldn’t count on anything.”

Yuri’s eyebrows shoot up. “He didn’t _let me win_.”

“Didn’t he?” JJ asks. “After all, he’s an Olympic athlete and you’re just a fucking fashion designer.”

Yuri jumps up, hating at how quickly that got to him. Sure enough, JJ is grinning like he just won the battle, and Yuri idly wishes he could slap that smirk off his face. But instead he just turns around and walks off, not wanting to endure this conversation a second longer.

***

Guang Hong steps into the hot tub then settles into the warm water. He’s gotten used to the Seattle weather, so he still isn’t quite reacclimated to being back in aggressive heat — but at least it isn’t as bad as Shanghai. He’d probably avoid the hot tub like the plague, but it’s well past dark, though, so the air is manageably cool.

He sits down and looks back at Leo, who is standing a good six feet away from the hot tub, a brooding look on his face. Guang Hong hasn’t known Leo long, of course, but they’ve spent the whole day together, so even he knows well enough that look on Leo’s face is uncharacteristic. He almost smiles, unable to help being a little bit amused.

It’s taken the whole _day_ to get Leo to agree to set foot in water with him. He axed the idea of getting into the pool without a second of hesitation, but Guang Hong eventually talked him into the hot tub. _Just give me a few minutes first_ , Leo said immediately after agreeing. That was a good eight hours ago. First they made and ate lunch and cleaned the entire kitchen. _Okay, a couple more minutes?_ Leo begged, and Guang Hong agreed. He found a deck of cards shoved in the back of a bookshelf with no books, so Leo attempted to teach him poker. Guang Hong began to have a sneaking suspicion that Leo isn’t very good at poker himself, but they laughed a lot. Eventually Guang Hong fell asleep on the couch, waking up to one of the lower-rung producers forcing them into an hour or so of interviews about being left out of the group date. (Guang Hong’s interview ended unceremoniously with the producer rolling his eyes at Guang Hong’s lack of tears about not being included.) _Then_ , Leo insisted, it was time for dinner. Guang Hong couldn’t really argue with that, considering Leo finished up his interview first and was deeply immersed in making dinner for two.

 _Fine_ , Leo finally said a half-hour ago, his bottom lip pushing out. Guang Hong bit back a smile. After all, he had only agreed when Guang Hong said, _You know, the others might be back soon_.

“Um,” Guang Hong says now that he’s in the hot tub. He’s waited patiently for a whole three minutes for Leo’s facial expression to change, to no avail. “Um, I mean, can’t you just _get in_?”

Leo finally meets his eyes, frowning.

“You weren’t lying,” Guang Hong says, moving over to the side of the hot tub closest to Leo.

“You thought I was _lying_?” he asks, sounding a little horrified.

“No, but…” he trails off. He just hadn’t thought it would be that _bad_. Without thinking about it too long, he reaches down and splashes some water at Leo, who flinches back with what Guang Hong could only call a squeak. “It isn’t going to _kill_ you,” Guang Hong adds, biting back a laugh.

“Maybe it won’t kill _you_ ,” Leo says under his breath. Then, a few minutes later: “Can you at least turn off the jets?”

Guang Hong does so, and then gets a little distracted by the long hard muscles of Leo’s body as he finally strips off his shirt with a resolved expression on his face. Leo’s hair is up in a ponytail, which manages to look good despite the fact that about half of it has fallen out — so much that it almost looks intentional. Guang Hong doesn’t understand how Otabek could take one look at Leo and _not_ even a little bit reciprocate whatever feelings that has Leo chasing after him. Especially since they’ve known each other for _years._

Leo finally takes a couple deliberate steps forward, a resolved look on his face. He finally steps over the edge and into the hot tub. Guang Hong turns toward him as he finally makes it into the hot water. He can’t help but be a little fascinated as Leo’s face shifts back and forth from horror to revulsion. Not that he doesn’t feel _bad_ , which he _does_. He brushes his hand against Leo’s, trying to remind him that he’s here. A shudder goes through Leo’s body, but he grabs Guang Hong’s hand before he can jerk away.

“Sorry,” Leo mutters through gritted teeth. Then he sits down next to Guang Hong, who suddenly wonders if he should be concerned about Leo passing out.

“Maybe this should be enough for today?” Guang Hong asks. After all, _he_ isn’t a therapist — _he_ doesn’t really know how immersion therapy works. But it seems like maybe they should be taking small steps.

Leo grips his hand tighter and then shifts even closer to him, until their legs are touching. Guang Hong flushes. “Just a little longer,” Leo says. “I can handle _that_ much.”

“Sure.”

After all, it isn’t like there’s anything better to do in this mansion. There aren’t any TV’s or DVD’s or _anything_. The only book Guang Hong has here is _The Girl on the Train_ , which he was only allowed because he talked a P.A. into buying it for him during his forced captivity at the hotel. Guang Hong hadn’t picked the book, and he has a strong suspicion that the P.A. has just grabbed the nearest book when he ran into the bestsellers section of the gift shop. The producers only seem to be concerned with boring everyone out of their minds, assuming that the long, confusing interviews don’t do them in first.

“Are you really here just because of Otabek?” Guang Hong asks suddenly. He can feel Leo’s hand shaking a little in his, and he can’t help but want to distract him.

“Yeah. I mean… like, yeah. Basically.” Leo looks straight forward, but Guang Hong thinks he can see a faint blush on his cheeks. “Like, I’ve always known him but I never thought he wanted to date anyone. And when I heard he was doing the show, I just thought… like, I’d be _furious_ if some rando ended up with him and I didn’t at least present myself as an _option_.” He laughs a little, leaning back until he’s resting his head against the edge of the hot tub. “Obviously it would’ve been better if I’d ever just fucking _asked him out_ years ago, but it’s way too late now.”

“He seems like a good guy.” He looks over at Leo, who’s straightening up while throwing an angry look at the water. Guang Hong pulls his hand away from Leo’s. He has no idea why he held on so long.

“He really is. We have a lot in common, too — I mean, even outside of skating. He’s _really_ into music. Plus, he’s, like… really hot, right?”

Guang Hong flushes. “Yeah,” he responds. _Everyone is really hot here_ , he almost adds, then decides it would be weird.

Leo looks around, suddenly frowning. “If you were trying to distract me, it worked… but just for a second.”

He almost laughs, but he’s glad he doesn’t when Leo starts shaking again. He grabs Leo’s arm, and Leo looks over at him, blinking. The fear on his face alleviates — just a little — and Leo gives him a forced smile.

“Um, what _happened_ to you… if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I almost drowned once,” Leo replies, shrugging like he’s trying to play it cool for a second. But then Guang Hong meets his eyes, and Leo flushes. “I was skating when I was like eight. I was skating on this big pond… or, like, maybe it was a small lake? Um, I was just skating like I always did, and I did a toe loop.” He pauses for a second and then continues, “And then when I landed, I just went right through the ice.” He pauses again, starting to push himself out of the water. Guang Hong expects him to get out, but he stops himself, instead pressing himself even closer to Guang Hong. “The water was so cold,” he continues, voice incredibly quiet. “I felt like I was freezing all over. I swam to the surface, but all I could find was ice — I couldn’t find where I broke through and I couldn’t break the ice above me. I started to give up, and I was just suspended there… I could see the sunlight coming through the ice, but I knew I was going to die. With, like, just an _inch_ of frozen water between me and safety. I think I was passing out when my mom finally broke through the ice and pulled me out.”

Guang Hong exhales slowly _._ “That’s _horrible_.” Leo slowly turns to him, shrugging a little. “You still _skate_?”

“I didn’t for about a year,” he admits with a small laugh. “I _still_ can’t skate anywhere but a rink, as you could probably guess.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Leo seems to calm down again, and he leans his head against Guang Hong’s shoulder. It elevates his heart-rate almost instantly, but he stays completely still. He knows he must be furiously red, but he hopes that Leo isn’t looking at him.

“At least this water isn’t _cold_ ,” Leo says slowly.

Guang Hong laughs a little. He’s trying to think of a response when Chris comes barreling through the mansion doors. They both look up, startled, not realizing that anyone was back yet. Unceremoniously, Chris climbs in next to them.

“We suffered a valiant defeat,” he says in a very theatrical tone. Guang Hong notices out of the corner of his eye that two cameras start approaching them.

“Okay, I’m good,” Leo says abruptly, and then jumps out. He pauses for half a second as though to steady himself, and then he runs back into the mansion.

Guang Hong sinks down, sighing into the water, watching as a stream of bubbles comes out of his mouth. Then Chris turns on the jets.

***

Otabek doesn’t quite understand why Minami decides to regale him with a very long-winded replay of his experience during archery tag, despite the fact that he hadn’t exactly lasted very long. Otabek doesn’t complain, because at least that means there aren’t any awkward silences.

It’s getting more and more difficult to deny that they have absolutely nothing in common.

So he’s relieved when Yuri strides over to them, stopping right next to him. He stares straight at Otabek, a half-smile on his face. “Do you mind if I steal Otabek for a second?” Yuri asks, and Otabek almost starts laughing just at the way Yuri doesn’t even glance away. He doesn’t mind — those eyes are still brilliantly green even in the dim lighting.

“S-sure,” Minami stammers.

Yuri leans down and grabs Otabek’s hand, tugging him off the couch. Otabek follows, throwing Minami a look that he tries to make apologetic. He lets himself be led around the roof to an unoccupied corner. There’s another couch there, and the cameramen shuffle after them. Otabek gives a quick glance at Mila, who is frowning at them. But Yuri is staring at him steadily, and Otabek finds himself getting lost in that intense stare all over again.

The seconds tick by.

For once, Otabek isn’t sure if it’s his fault. He isn’t even sure if it’s _awkward_ , technically. Yuri is still hanging onto his hand. “You look good,” Otabek finally says, just for something to say — even though it’s just as true as always. He doesn’t know when they moved so close to each other, but suddenly he realizes that they’re only about a foot apart.

“Did you lose on purpose?” Yuri asks. He frowns as he says it, sliding his hand out of Otabek’s. The mood suddenly shifts, and Otabek wonders if perhaps he’d just misinterpreted Yuri’s intentions all along.

“No,” he responds, but that hard look in Yuri’s eyes doesn’t alleviate in the slightest.

“I think you wanted me to win. You wanted this stupid extra time with me.” His face flushes a little at that admission.

Otabek almost starts laughing, but he knows that Yuri would probably get up and walk off. He isn’t quite sure why he has the sudden urge to laugh, but he just knows that if he’d _thought_ about it that way, he might have let Yuri win.

“I didn’t,” he finally answers slowly.

“I don’t _believe_ you.”

“I swear, Yuri. When I was playing against you… all I could think about was how much fun I was having. It’s more fun than I’ve had in ages.” Yuri’s stone-cold expression melts a little at that. “I really just wanted to play the game with you. I _wanted_ to win. But I’ll admit that I didn’t mind losing to you. And I’m _really_ glad you’re here.”

Yuri lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Otabek. Otabek freezes for a second, getting used to the feeling of Yuri hugging him so tightly, and then he wraps his arms around him, too. Yuri might be _tall_ , but he’s slender. He hasn’t returned anyone’s displays of physical affection before now, but it feels _comfortable_ with Yuri.

Yuri buries his face into Otabek’s shoulder. “Спасибо,” Yuri whispers.

Otabek tenses for a second, waiting for Mila to yell about using Russian. Finally, he responds, “You’re welcome.”

***

Leo is hanging out in the kitchen when Sara goes around the mansion, telling everyone that they have to go to the living room. By the time he gets there, everyone else is already there. He hadn’t even known Guang Hong left the pool — if he _had_ , he would’ve hung out with him — but now he’s spread out on the couch. He changed out of his swim trunks into pink shorts, but he apparently didn’t bother to put on a shirt.

It’s already second nature that has Leo walking straight over to him. Guang Hong looks about five seconds from falling asleep, but he starts to scramble up to make room for Leo.

Leo slips into the space Guang Hong makes for him and then says, “You can, like, stay lying down if you want?” He taps his lap, realizing a second too late that it’s probably a weird thing to say, feeling his face immediately flame up. He just feels so _normal_ around Guang Hong — it already feels like they’ve known each other three years instead of three days.

Sure enough, Guang Hong blushes furiously, too, but he says, “Thanks.” He lies back down, his head resting on Leo’s thigh. He shuts his eyes, and Leo wonders if he’ll manage to fall asleep. They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Leo tentatively reaches down and runs his fingers through Guang Hong’s still-damp hair, not missing the way he instantly blushes again even if he doesn’t open his eyes.

Only the losing team is back at the mansion, so there are still five guys missing. Viktor and Yuuri are sitting on the other couch, Chris is sitting on the ground next to them (having an animated conversation with Viktor about Geneva), and Seung-gil is curled up in a chair — his head is rested on his knees and he’s staring straight ahead. Leo thinks about pulling him into a conversation, but then there’s a knock on the door.  

Leo goes to move, but then realizes that Guang Hong is impeding him from doing that. Chris bounds up instead, giving Leo a grin that seems a little too big.

Guang Hong finally sits up, yawning. Leo knows it has to be well after midnight.

Chris comes back in, holding up a date card with the same grin. His eyes are fixed on Leo and Guang Hong as he opens it with a flourish.

“ _Leo_ ,” he reads, and looks up, pausing. Leo can’t help but grin. All he _wants_ is to spend more time alone with Otabek — he feels like they haven’t really even talked about him coming on the show. And he knows that Otabek wouldn’t have chosen him for this date if he didn’t feel _something_ for him. He can’t help but smile, but he throws an apologetic look at Guang Hong, who doesn’t seem terribly concerned.

“Leo,” Chris reads again. “Let’s take our love to new heights. Otabek.” He tosses the card to Leo, who catches it and stares at it.

“Helicopter ride?” Yuuri guesses.

“Hot air balloon?” Chris suggests.

“Just hope it isn’t cliff diving,” Guang Hong jokes, leaning over Leo’s shoulder to look at the note.

Leo laughs, trying to stop his heart from hammering just from the suggestion that anyone could ever ask him to jump into a body of water like that. But that fear instantly fades away — he knows that Otabek won’t choose something like that, and even if he did, Leo could throw a fit if _absolutely_ necessary.

Leo just stares down at the card, smiling.

***

Otabek comes back with Phichit, who has his arm wrapped around Otabek’s. Yuri finds his eyes narrowing, wondering what they talked about. The thought is already beginning to haunt him — he can’t help it — wondering if Phichit is connecting with Otabek like _he_ is.

When Yuri was wrapped in Otabek’s arms, it felt _significant._

He isn’t an idiot — he knows that Otabek is basically dating ten other guys. But he also sees the way Otabek flinches away from physical contact with everyone else. Even now, he watches as Otabek pulls his arm away from Phichit; Yuri hides his grin into his champagne glass, but he doesn’t miss the way Phichit frowns at him.

Otabek doesn’t waste any time in plucking the group date rose from the plate.

Yuri is still new to all these roses. He would’ve thought that all the roses were handed out at the rose _ceremony_ , but apparently that is very much not the case. Michele earlier explained to him in a very unenthused tone that there is a rose handed out at each group date. These are _special_ roses — somehow more significant than the others.

“I had a good time today,” Otabek says, looking a little more comfortable than Yuri has seen him before. “It was… interesting” —he throws Yuri a quick half-smile— “seeing your team win, and it was nice to have some one-on-one time tonight. All that being said, Phichit, will you accept this rose?”

Phichit grins and takes the rose from him.

Yuri sighs and leans back into the couch. He wonders if killing a teammate might have disqualified him from that rose.

* * *

**Thursday**

The cliff looms in front of them.

Leo is strapped into a harness by someone who a P.A. assures him is an expert in all things rock-climbing. Leo has gone rock-climbing a couple times, but it’s always been at a gym. This is _definitely_ more exciting, and he tries not to think of what his coach would say if she were seeing this. If she could get him to stop doing _any_ physical activity outside of the rink and its attached gym, she’d be happy.

Otabek is also looking _almost_ enthusiastic, which is more than Leo usually sees from him. He’s strapped into the same type of harness as Leo. The rock-climbing expert — _Rosa_ , she says when Leo asks — attaches ropes to them and goes over the basics. Both he and Otabek have done this before, but neither of them are by any means considered experienced. They’re also both given helmets with small cameras built in, which makes Leo roll his eyes a little bit as he adjusts his ponytail.

“Well,” Otabek says when everyone else finally leaves the area immediately surrounding them. “You ready?”

“Ready for anything.” Leo grins, and they stare at each other. For a second, Leo doesn’t even notice the cameras — for a second, he’s just on a date with a guy he’s had a crush on for a couple years. And he’s _game_. After all, in what other circumstance would a first date involve going out to the desert and rock-climbing in a location that’s totally beautiful and natural but also completely safe?

He reaches out and gives Otabek a quick hug. He knows that Otabek doesn’t love physical contact, but he doesn’t shy away _too_ much — and Leo wouldn’t want to linger anyway considering their harnesses and gear would just get in the way.

They break apart, and Leo eyes the cliff for places to put his feet, trying to keep all Rosa’s advice in his brain — _straight arms, locate your center of gravity, mind your feet, focus on your legs_ — but he can’t help but wonder if he’ll beat Otabek up the cliff. He tries not to let his competitive side get the best of him, but when he looks at Otabek out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but grin. Who is he kidding — Leo _always_ wants to win.

Assuming he survives that long.

He gives a shaky laugh and then suggests, “On the count of three?”

Otabek smiles. “One… two… _three_.”

And then they’re climbing. Leo quickly realizes just how rusty he is — his fingers hurt immediately, and his heart is pounding more from the constant threat of being unstable than the constant threat of falling. He rationally _knows_ the rope is there, but he doesn’t want to have to use it. Especially with cameras down there. He’s _supposed_ to be a professional athlete… but he is definitely more comfortable on ice than scaling a rock.

He gets the hang of it after a while, only trailing Otabek by a couple feet. Occasionally Otabek will look down at him and make small talk, but it’s obvious that both of them are concentrating hard on the task at hand.

Leo doesn’t really notice as the time slips away, other than their occasional conversations. At some point, Otabek pauses so they can climb next to each other. Every time Leo trusts his footing enough to look overhead, he can see more of the blue, cloudless sky. He has to admit it’s breathtaking.

“It’s beautiful,” Otabek says a few minutes later.

Leo makes sure he has a careful grasp on the cliff side and then he looks up. They’re almost to the top now, and above them is almost nothing but blue. Leo has always known that Otabek is a man of few words, but he doesn’t miss the soft look on Otabek’s face as he looks up. _Will he ever look at me that way?_ Leo can’t help but wonder. The thought has a flash of pain stabbing him squarely in his heart.

Otabek meets his gaze with his usual half-smile, and Leo starts climbing again. He tries not to rush, paying careful attention to his feet, but he’s getting antsy now that he’s close to the top. Plus, he can’t help but think about how good it’ll feel to have solid ground under his feet again.

He doesn’t make it to the top gracefully, but rather just sort of flops over onto the top of the cliff. His heart is still racing and he scrambles up onto his knees, then to his feet as Otabek gets up more agilely. He’s never been so grateful just to _stand_. Now that he has a second to look around, he realizes that there are cameras up here, too.

That brings Leo crashing back to this fake reality.

Bursting into laughter, he strips off his helmet and harness. He looks in awe over the desert — he can see for miles from this high up. He can see every crevice etched into ground, and all the cacti and animals and birds. He can even see something green, far off in the distance.

He reaches out and grabs Otabek’s hand, finally looking straight down. The height looks even more insurmountable from up here, but he did it.

 _They_ did it.

He looks at Otabek, unable to stop the wide grin from his face. Even Otabek is smiling, that look of awe all over his face as he stares out into the distance, too. Leo has never seen him look so open — he can’t help but realize that he may have known Otabek for years, but there’s still a lifetime’s worth of things to learn and experience about him.

“That was _awesome_ ,” Leo says, finally getting his voice back. “Like, a _million_ times better than a stupid rock climbing wall.”

Otabek nods, turning around to get a full view of the skyline. From the west, they can see a faint strip of pink on the horizon — the beginning of sunset. Leo doesn’t remember what time it was when they got here, but they must’ve been climbing for hours. Suddenly a P.A. shoves water bottles into their hands, and Leo struggles to wrap his stiff fingers around the bottle to open it. It isn’t until he takes a drink that he realizes how thirsty he is.

And then he collapses onto the ground.

Intentionally. But he is _tired_.

Otabek gives him a quick _look_ and then sits down, too. Otabek must have some sort of superhuman strength, because he doesn’t look _too_ exhausted. Leo feels the faintest pang of annoyance — no wonder Otabek looks so calm and cool and collected after his skating programs.

And he still looks _gorgeous_.

Leo leans forward. Otabek’s brown eyes meet his steadily. It’s impossible to read that face, but Leo can’t help but feel encouragement over Otabek not flinching away. Leo moves closer and closer. He’s never seen Otabek’s hair flattened like this, but the helmet definitely crushed his signature style. But now there are stray hairs falling in Otabek’s eye. The tip of his nose is faintly pink from the sunshine. Leo can’t help but smile.

Then Leo kisses him.

Leo feels a jolt of electricity through his spine. Otabek at least leans into it, which Leo can’t help but think is a good sign. He puts his hand on Otabek’s and practically gets up on his knees to lean in closer, wanting to deepen their kiss. It’s been _years_ and he just wants _more_. Just when he’s getting up his courage to go for more, Otabek slowly pulls back.

This time, Leo’s laugh is a little nervous, but Otabek gives him that same smile as always, so Leo exhales in relief.

They stare into the sunset again, and after a few quiet minutes, Leo leans into his side with a sigh. “I’m glad we did this,” he says quietly. He’s referring to everything — the climb _and_ the kiss.

“Me, too.”

***

Otabek feels intensity from every contestant on the show, but it’s never been quite so acute as right now, with Leo staring at him. There’s that omnipresent friendly smile on his face, but Otabek knows that it’s going to be a lot harder to just smile and stare off into the distance to defer questions now that they’re no longer sitting on the top of a cliff. It’s just him and Leo and about five cameras.

Over the past four hours, Otabek was taken to a hotel and told to shower and get ready. An outfit was laid out for him — the red tie wasn’t really too bright for him, but leaving it off helped him retain some of his rapidly disintegrating sanity. It was nothing but a vestige of independence — at best — but it was _something_. Dinner was brought in as he was getting ready. When he had, confused, asked why he wasn’t eating dinner on the date, Mila just sighed and said, “No one wants to watch people chew on TV.” Then, just a moment later: “Nice tie.” And with a roll of her eyes, she was out of the room.

Now here he is, far away from the comparative sanctuary of that camera-free hotel room (other than that full ninety minutes of an interview). He picks at the food in front of him as he was instructed — he doesn’t do it so much because he was told, but more because it’s _something to do_. Something that isn’t looking into Leo’s giant brown eyes. Otabek doesn’t want to see himself being analyzed in real time.

Leo looks good. Objectively. His suit is emerald green, and his tie has small white and black checks. After another painfully awkward minute, Leo sighs and leans his head onto his hand.

“Can we, like, just talk about the elephant in the room?” Leo asks, his wide grin just as friendly as ever as he points to his own chest. Otabek keeps expecting Leo to realize that following him onto the show was a waste of time, but for some reason he’s still here, seemingly of his own volition.

Otabek isn’t sure if he should be relieved about that or not.

“Sure,” Otabek responds.

“Um…” Leo clasps his hands under the table and looks down at them, seeming uncomfortable — maybe for the first time Otabek has ever noticed. It’s always seemed to him that Leo can get along with anyone and fit seamlessly into any situation. “Like… I came on this show for you.” He looks back up at Otabek, face flickering between a million emotions as he waits for a response.

 _I’m glad you’re here_ — he can practically hear the producers screaming that cue at him. Of course, that _would_ be what they would want him to respond. But the words stick in his throat. He’s _friends_ with Leo — he’s definitely one of the few skaters Otabek doesn’t mind spending time with.

Of course he’s happy to have Leo here.

How could he _not_ be — having a friend here is one of the only things keeping him sane.

When the producers asked who he wanted to have the first one-on-one with, he’d all but tuned them out when they started talking about how the first one-on-one should be given to someone nice but uninteresting — _Yuuri Katsuki_ , one of them suggested with a grin Otabek didn’t like. When they’d finally given him a second to speak, he’d immediately demanded Leo.

Otabek knows that it’s early to cash in a demand, but he was pretty adamant about this.

It isn’t that Otabek has a crush on Leo, but he wanted to not feeling skin-crawlingly anxious for half a second. He can barely handle one-on-one conversations for ten minutes with most of the rest of the guys, let alone several hours.

But now it seems like that might have backfired.

And that’s when he realizes he’s been silent for entirely too long.

 _I’m glad you’re here_ , the voice in the back of his head suggests again. A little more emphatically this time. But Otabek just shakes his head a little and lets out a small sigh.

“Why didn’t you ever _say_ anything?” Otabek finally asks. “If you’ve, uh — I mean, if you came on this show, that must mean that you—” Otabek breaks off.

“I’ve been into you for ages,” Leo helpfully supplies, giving a nervous laugh.

“We trained in Denver together for a few summers… you could’ve said something. I know I’m not exactly an open book, but you’ve always known I’m gay. And single. I mean — I guess I just don’t get it.”

Leo sighs, getting up from his chair in front of their fake dinner and going to sit on the ledge by the fireplace. Otabek follows after only a second of hesitation, carefully putting himself about a foot away from Leo. He notices the cameras creeping forward, but for once they’re the last thing on his mind.

“I… I wanted to,” Leo finally says, meeting his eyes. “But, like, I guess I’ve always thought of myself as a guy other guys just want to be friends with, you know? And you’ve always been, like, so cool and unapproachable. I thought for sure that you _had_ some guy in your back pocket. Or, like, that I’d be the polar _opposite_ of your type. I don’t know… I guess I thought it would make it _weird_. And I guess I’m the type who hates making things weird.”

Otabek nods, looking down at the fireplace. He notices from the corner of his eye as Leo leans forward, making their conversation even more intimate. He stiffens but consciously doesn’t move.

He doesn’t know what to _say_. He just tenses for the question he’s sure is coming next, but it doesn’t come. Leo just sits there, looking at him patiently. Leo _is_ a good guy — any man would be lucky to date him. Otabek is very aware of that.

For a second, he’s selfishly just glad Leo didn’t ask what Otabek would’ve said back then, if Leo had gotten the nerve to ask him out.

Because he has no idea what he would’ve said.

“I really _am_ glad you’re on the show,” Otabek says, not knowing what else to offer. “I really wanted you to be here — on this first date.” It isn’t much of an offer, especially compared to what Leo said. But it’s all he has.

He knows that Leo is offering himself up. He’s offering something that might already be in the realm of real love — which is more than a little terrifying to Otabek. But he can’t help but be flattered that Leo came here as nothing but genuine — just trying to reverse old mistakes, make up for lost time.

Otabek has never felt that passionately about anything, other than skating.

Then Leo hugs him tightly, closing that space that Otabek had carefully left between them. But he gives in, hugging him back awkwardly.

“Thank you for saying that,” Leo whispers.

He stays still, waiting for Leo to pull away first. Once Leo does, Otabek gets up and grabs the rose that was sitting at the table. He notices the cameraman taking a few steps back as he moves; he’d almost forgotten about the cameras.

How stupid of him.

He goes back to the fireplace and holds out the rose, a pang in his stomach at the way Leo lights up. “Will you accept this rose?” he asks without preamble. He’s already said far more than he usually does, so he doesn’t feel quite as guilty leaving it at that.

“Definitely,” Leo says, grinning. He’s back to looking like his happy, carefree self again, which — if nothing else — Otabek is glad about. He slips the rose into Leo’s jacket and then allows himself to be hugged again.

Otabek feels a little guilty — is it selfish, keeping Leo around because he wants a friend? Because he’s comfortable with Leo? He isn’t sure.

After all, he’s very aware that their kiss earlier meant a lot more to Leo than it did to him.

* * *

**Saturday**

It’s been nearly a week since he ended up at this mansion, which he still isn’t entirely sure wasn’t a mistake. But he can’t deny it’s been a relaxing week; everyone else looks agitated and still gives the cameras sidelong glances, but Viktor is enjoying his self-exile. _I guess Rhode Island wasn’t much of a fortress, after all_ , he’s found himself musing more than once.

It’s time for the cocktail party before the second rose ceremony. He still isn’t particularly nervous about his odds. Even though they’ve undeniably formed no real connection, he’s still managed to be altogether inoffensive towards Otabek. And, if nothing else, he expects the producers wouldn’t _let_ him get eliminated this early.

He isn’t sure what’s taking everyone else so long to get down to the living room, but he supposes that maybe not everyone has had years of practice at getting camera-ready. He’s wearing a light grey three-piece suit with a navy shirt. He feels more comfortable in it than he had felt in his athletic clothes the last time he was on camera.

He’s sitting on the couch alone when someone walks into the room. He turns around, for a second not recognizing the person. He wracks his brain trying to think of any potential attractive stranger they could be bringing onto the show to stir things up — an ex-boyfriend of Otabek’s, maybe? — and then it dawns on him who it is.

Yuuri.

 _Yuuri_.

His suit actually fits him this time and he’s completely foregone wearing a tie. He’s not wearing glasses at all. Viktor isn’t sure what it is about Yuuri that suddenly looks so appealing compared to the last time they were wearing formalwear — maybe his slicked-back hair wasn’t quite _so_ perfect, maybe it’s the glasses, or maybe that light-blue tie really just did the whole outfit in.

“You, uh, look good,” Viktor says quietly, not sure why it’s a hard sentence to get out.

Yuuri instantly flushes and looks at him. One look at Viktor and he already seems ready to bolt. It doesn’t exactly make Viktor feel great.

“Thanks,” he finally says. “Um, you too.”

He sits down stiffly next to Viktor, sitting completely straight for a second before relaxing into the couch. Viktor hides his smile behind his hand.

***

“How will your fans know _anything_ about you, if you don’t post on social media? How will they know what you like or where you’re going or what you’re eating?” Phichit is saying, holding his camera in his hands like it’s a lifeline. Yuri stops just outside of the ring of bright lights. He’s just outside of Otabek’s line of sight; he would be very visible to Phichit, but he’s is too busy staring deeply into Otabek’s eyes to notice him.

Yuri grinds his teeth at the way Phichit is pressed against him, with his hand resting on top of Otabek’s. He can’t help but notice the way Otabek doesn’t seem to be holding his hand back — it’s childish, but it makes Yuri a little bit happy. That happiness is immediately tempered by the group date rose prominently displayed on Phichit’s lapel.

“What I’m eating?” Otabek repeats, and Yuri wishes he could see the look on his face. “Who cares?”

Yuri stifles a smile, and Phichit says, “I could make you a social media expert in about twenty minutes if you’d let me… Well, other than the fact that we don’t even have _internet_ here. I seriously think my skills are deteriorating. Rapidly.”

Rolling his eyes, Yuri takes the opportunity to step forward, standing right next to Otabek. He looks down just as Otabek looks up, startled expression turning into a smile the second they make eye contact. Yuri would never admit it, but it knocks the wind out of him. He forgets whatever grand opening line he had, and instead he just breathes out, “Hey.” He doesn’t miss the way Otabek pulls his hand away from underneath Phichit’s, and it’s only then that Otabek spares a glance at Phichit before looking back at Yuri. “Can I steal Otabek?” he asks, trying and immediately failing at making his tone anything but brusque as he looks at Phichit.

“Sure,” Phichit responds, but he looks a little sullen as he gets up from the couch.

Otabek stands and takes Yuri’s hand, entwining their fingers together. Yuri can’t help but grin as he pulls him around the mansion until they get to the front. There’s a sofa out there, hidden between all the overly-lavish decorative trees. It’s quieter here — the only sound being the cameramen shuffling around to position themselves properly.

Once they’re settled in, Otabek opens his mouth to say something, but then his eyes go wide and he snaps it shut. Yuri isn’t sure, but he thinks he can see the faintest pink on his cheeks, and Yuri’s eyebrows shoot up in response. He can’t tell what’s got the cool and calm Otabek suddenly looking so keyed up, but his plan is to stay silent until Otabek has to address it.

Sure enough, about a half-minute later, Otabek says, “Um… I like this.” He reaches out and touches Yuri’s tie so lightly that Yuri can only feel the slightly pressure before it’s gone. Yuri can’t look away from his face, almost hypnotized by the way Otabek’s gaze keeps flickering between his tie and his eyes. Yuri can feel himself blushing.

Yuri is wearing all black with a floral tie. He certainly hadn’t expected Otabek to care one way or the other about flowers, but judging by that look on his face, Otabek seems _very_ positive about them. 

Then he grins, moving closer to Otabek. He vaguely considers the cameras and then immediately decides that he doesn’t care. He’s never been _this close_ to Otabek before, and he can’t help but move even closer. Otabek’s hand goes to his waist, and Yuri instinctively grabs onto his arm.

Yuri can see every strand of his hair, can see every shade of brown in his eyes, can even feel his breath. Yuri can feel himself slipping — falling too deep into this.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

But he forces himself to wait. He’s hanging on by a thread, but he needs Otabek to make the first move.

Otabek leans forward, and it’s everything Yuri can do to not just lean in and kiss him first. But he waits, allowing Otabek to go at his glacial pace, knowing it’ll just make the kiss more intense. It seems silly to want a kiss this badly, but every inch of him can’t wait.  

And then Otabek freezes.

Otabek breaks their eye contact for the first time in what feels like hours. He looks down and leans back.

Yuri lets go of his arm and slides back on the couch, breaking all their physical contact. Otabek just lets his hand drop — that hand that had been flush against his waist about fifteen seconds ago. He can still feel the burn of it.

Yuri looks up, unable to stop himself from frowning. “Oh,” he says simply.

Otabek finally looks back up at him. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s fine.” Yuri isn’t _trying_ to be passive-aggressive, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s already the youngest one here by a couple years — there’s no need to _act_ like it. But he can’t help but ask, “Did they, like, tell you not to kiss me?”

Otabek shakes his head slowly.

 _At least fucking lie to make me feel better_ , Yuri thinks furiously, jumping up. In a second, he realizes that he probably doesn’t want Otabek to lie to him, but at least he wouldn’t feel quite so shitty.

Has he been imagining _everything_ — their connection, their looks, their touches?

Does Otabek not _want_ him?

“Okay,” Yuri says, trying to keep himself from freaking out verbally. He’s painfully aware of the cameras, now. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as that second when Otabek pulled away, but it certainly does add a particularly brutal insult to this injury. “Okay,” he repeats. “Um, well… I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

At the rose ceremony.

Probably getting axed.

Otabek’s expression is unreadable, which he can only take to be a bad sign. Yuri sighs and takes the shortcut through the mansion straight to the bar.

***

Minami is talking.

And _talking_.

Otabek is sure that somewhere under that overly friendly and energetic exterior is someone who could be nice to get to know, but the exhaustive descriptions of all his day-to-day activities at St. Cloud University in the greater Minneapolis area aren’t exactly _interesting_ , to say the least. Why Minami thinks that Otabek would be interested in the name and exact favorite seat of Minami’s favorite coffee shop is baffling.

Especially when that interaction with Yuri is still haunting him.

Otabek is very aware of the fact that he did absolutely _everything_ wrong.

First, he was completely undone by that tie. He had never even known he _liked_ floral pattern, but seeing it hit him like a freight train. He still couldn’t fully describe exactly what happened to him when he saw it, but he had the very sudden sense that he might be losing his mind.

Over an article of _clothing_.

As if that weren’t bad enough, he quickly realized he hadn’t known what true insanity was until he was closer than he has ever been so those green eyes.

 _Of course_ he wanted to kiss Yuri.

He’s never wanted to kiss anyone that much.

“Otabek? Um, I just asked — do you have any tattoos?” Minami says, looking concerned.

 _When did we start talking about tattoos?_ Otabek wonders — last time he checked, they were having a very one-sided conversation about college. “Um, no,” he lies. He can’t lie to Yuri, but apparently that constraint doesn’t extend to Minami.

“I have one.”

It takes Otabek several seconds too long to stop thinking about exactly how Yuri looked that close to him. His _hair_ — some sort of waterfall braid. But Otabek blinks a few times and then gives a strained, “Oh?”

Minami tugs his jacket and shirt sleeve up, revealing the words _Live Your Truth_ written in script across his wrist.

Otabek looks from the words to Minami’s proud eyes.

 _That’s stupid_ , Otabek wants to say, but he stops himself. “Um, that’s really interesting,” he finally says, and then stands up. “Sorry, Minami, will you excuse me?”

Minami looks confused but not hurt as Otabek walks away. Otabek carefully avoids Sara’s sharp eyes as he starts walking back in the direction of the mansion, looking everywhere for Yuri. But he’s nowhere to be found, and Otabek wonders if he’s holed up going through a painful interview about not being kissed by the bachelor. Otabek stifles a groan and rushes into the mansion, heading straight to the bathroom. He wishes he had the excuse of feeling sick to his stomach for his behavior, but he doesn’t even have _that_ — all he has is the sudden, desperate urge to escape. And the bathroom is his only option.

He yanks his microphone off — sure, he knows he’ll have to put it back on the second to leaves, but he wants to do _something_. It hangs down near his feet, and Otabek has a sudden impulse to crush it. The feeling is fleeting, unlike the sense of doom now that he refused to kiss one of the _only_ people here who he would ever consider actually dating.

He breathes in a ragged breath. This is the first time Otabek has thought those words in quite that way — and now that he’s considered it, he knows it’s true. He _would_ date Yuri. He would happily go outside and ask him out right this second, if it weren’t for this stupid show and all its stupid, arbitrary rules.

He couldn’t even _kiss_ him.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

When he was leaning forward to kiss Yuri, someone else’s face popped into his brain.

Leo.

And Otabek had realized then what he’s still sure of now: Yuri deserves better than a man who kissed someone else just a couple days ago. Someone who’s about to go out there and lie to ten other men about the sincerity and depths of his feelings and optimism about this whole stupid process. Yuri should have a man who wants nothing more than to be around him, and _only_ him.

Not a man with the next nine weeks of his life signed away on this stupid contract.

Otabek sighs and picks up his mic with a sense of impending doom. He’s never considered himself to be melodramatic before, but it’s certainly becoming more and more apparent.

After he fixes his microphone, he starts to walk back to rest of the group, but someone grabs onto his arm.

“How about an interview?” Minako asks, grinning.

***

Not long after Yuuri gets back into the mansion after a short chat with a very distracted Otabek and then a long interview, someone sits down next to him. Yuuri expects it to be Phichit — he and Phichit are roommates, and they’ve already become close friends. Yuuri is very aware that he isn’t a particularly warm or friendly person, so he isn’t exactly predisposed to friendship. But Phichit is normal and friendly, two things that Yuuri never would’ve expected to find in a place like this.

Then he actually looks.

Viktor.

He would have assumed that the last week of seeing him every day would’ve desensitized him, but a shock still jolts through him every time he sees that silver hair. Viktor is just sipping at his vodka, looking as stunning and normal as always (if anyone that looks _that_ much like a supermodel could ever be considered to look normal). Yuuri’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to curb his instinct just to bolt.

“I really wanted to thank you for saving me,” Viktor says.

 _What’s a normal thing to say?_ Yuuri thinks, wracking his brain. “It was just a game — and I, uh, wanted to win.”

It’s true that Yuuri considers his competitiveness to be one of his less than charming attributes, but he just knows that when he saw that Viktor was in trouble, he’d stepped in. He’d like to say he would’ve done it for any of his teammates, but he honestly isn’t so sure.

He tightly grips the edge of the couch cushion he’s sitting on, still feeling about half a second away from running away. Even though Viktor is just _sitting there_. Not doing anything other than looking kind of sad and completely gorgeous.

Suddenly it hits him that he’s sitting _right next_ to Viktor.

 _The_ Viktor.

Viktor, who’s completely out of his element and completely bored.

“Um, Viktor?” Yuuri asks tentatively. Viktor looks at him, actually looking interested and expectant. Yuuri takes a second to take a deep breath. “Um, sorry but… why are you _here?_ ” Viktor’s eyes widen and Yuuri quickly adds, “Not that I’m not glad you’re here! But you’re, like, _famous_? Completely famous. Obviously.”

Viktor chuckles lightly and sets his drink down. When he turns back to Yuuri, he’s shocked to see how open his expression looks.

“Honestly?” Viktor asks. They both look around, but they don’t see any cameras. “I’ve been so frustrated with my music. And my _life_. I keep trying to come up with new material, but… I’m almost thirty. Everything just sounds like an echo of old songs.” He’s never seemed so _real_ to Yuuri — looking down at his hands with a frown on his face and the faintest pink on his cheeks. “Sorry,” Viktor adds, still not looking up. “I didn’t mean to get maudlin there.” He looks back up with his trademark grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Everyone has rough patches,” Yuuri says after a few long seconds, that for once don’t seem particularly awkward or oppressive. “And if even a silly show like this helps you get out of it, that’s a good thing, right?”

Viktor smiles — it looks genuine this time, and Yuuri feels warmth in his stomach. He smiles down at his hands, trying not to blush.

Then Phichit jumps over the back of the couch and slams down next to Yuuri. He whips around, startled. “Hey,” Phichit says. “You know how we were talking about Michele? He’s over there talking to Emil _again_.” He gestures several feet away, where Michele is leaning against the wall, deeply immersed in what appears to be a very animated conversation with Emil, despite the fact that he barely bothers to string a sentence together around the rest of them.

Yuuri glances back at Viktor, who’s eyeing them carefully. That genuine smile on his face has faded, but he doesn’t look particularly offended at the interruption.

“Do you think something is _going on_?” Viktor asks, meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

Yuuri flushes. He tries not to be petty, but they’re surrounded day in and day out with nothing to distract themselves but conversations with each other — this is a breeding ground for pettiness. “Maybe,” he finally answers.

“Emil seems, like, _super_ straight, though, right?” Phichit says. “Like, actually?”

Viktor chuckles and leans back onto one of the pillows, his silver hair spreading out. Yuuri tries not to let that distract him. He never could’ve expected having a normal conversation with Viktor, but here they are. Gossiping and enjoying it.

“Oh, look,” Phichit hisses, looking up at Michele, who is standing alone now, with Emil nowhere to be seen. Yuuri glances quickly and then averts his gaze back to Viktor.

“Don’t do it,” Yuuri mutters; he has no idea what Phichit has cooked up but he’s pretty sure it’s going to be _far_ outside his comfort zone.

“Hey! Michele!” Phichit calls, ignoring him. Yuuri dares to look over again and sees as Michele looks up at them, momentarily surprised. For a second he seems to waver, but then he walks over to the three of them. Yuuri notices for the first time that there are cameras far off aimed straight at them, and for a heart-pounding second, he wonders how much of that conversation made it on camera.

It’s silly; he and Viktor didn’t talk about much of anything, but it did _feel_ significant. Private. Special.

“Yeah?” Michele asks, expression just as impassive as always.

Yuuri notices that Chris and JJ have moved into the living room and are staring at the interaction, and Leo and Guang Hong have looked up from their conversation at the fireplace. Yuuri glances at Viktor, who looks completely unfazed by the crowd. He’s still sipping at his nearly-empty vodka idly, but his eyes are laser-focused.

“Are you and Emil, like, _friends_?” Phichit asks point-blank.

Yuuri can’t tell whether or not he’s imagining the way a faint blush appears on Michele’s face, but he knows he’s definitely not imagining the way he crosses his arm combatively across his chest. “I’ve known him for years,” he says. “Since my sister is a producer.”

“That makes sense,” Phichit says, and Yuuri throws him a warning look. He isn’t sure what kind of questions Phichit might ask, but between the cameras and the audience, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

“Yes,” Michele says stiffly, taking a step back.

“So are you only on this show because of your sister?”

Yuuri has a strong sensation of wanting to bury his face in his hands to get away from the awkwardness of this conversation.

Irritated, Michele’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you asking if I’m straight?” Michele snaps.

“Kinda,” Phichit says, flashing a grin that’s surely meant to diffuse the situation.

“I’m not.”

Phichit nods slowly, glancing at Yuuri. “Emil seems like a good guy,” he adds with a friendly smile back at Michele.

Michele’s face turns completely red. “He is,” he snaps. “And I don’t think he’s looking for any _more_ friends, if that’s why you’re asking.” Then he turns around and walks out of the room.

Phichit nods slowly, even though he’s long gone. “Did I just make that weird?” he asks Yuuri.

“Definitely,” Viktor says, smirking.

***

“How was your interview?” Emil asks, not even trying to keep his smirk in check — after all, Minako would be able to see right through it.

Sure enough, she rolls her eyes at him. She sits down on her chair and swivels back towards the monitors. He sits on the extreme edge of her control panel — three years ago, she would’ve threatened to skin him alive for that, but now she doesn’t really seem to care. She gives him a quick sidelong glare and then looks back at the screen, switching it over to an awkward conversation between Otabek and Chris.

“No need to pretend as though you didn’t watch it,” she finally says. “At least get me more Scotch if you’re going to keep bothering me.”

He laughs and gets up. “It’s just so rare for you to go out into the field these days,” he says. “How could I not watch?” He grabs her whiskey bottle from a shelf and pours it into her glass. He wavers for a second on asking her if she wants ice; he knows she’d glare at him and give her usual rant on how ice destroys the flavor. Everything in Minako’s life is perfectly in place, including the pieces she moves around the chessboard of this show.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go rescue your best friend Michele after his disastrous meeting with Otabek.”

Emil flinches at that. “ _Disastrous_?” he asks, setting her glass down a little too hard; he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way her lips twitch up at the corner.  

“This might be the end for him.”

Emil can’t help but grimace. He hadn’t _loved_ when Sara insisted that Mickey be on this season — _he only sleeps with men_ , she’d snapped when he’d said that he didn’t think Mickey would like being on this show. He’s managed to find a great personality inside of Mickey, but that’s only with years of work — the show certainly doesn’t have that kind of patience. Emil loves his job, but he knows that the contestants get the worst end of the stick — he wouldn’t wish it on someone he hated, let alone someone who’s one of his best friends. Seeing Sara throw Mickey to the wolves hasn’t been _easy_ , but he also doesn’t want to see him eliminated. And not just because he doesn’t want Mickey to be upset.

Maybe it’s selfish, but he’ll miss having Mickey around.

Sure, Mickey visits the mansion now and then, but he’s busy with his dental practice and Emil spends about a third of the year traveling the world with the show. It isn’t a rough life, but it does impede friendships.

“I’ll talk Otabek out of it,” Emil finally answers.

Minako turns to him with raised eyebrows. “God, do we have another _Dean_ situation on our hands?”

“That was _last season_ , Minako. And Rachel _adored_ Dean.” She just raises her eyebrows even further and he emphatically adds, "It isn't _my_ fault he betrayed us all during Paradise."

“It’s easiest to not have weaknesses for the contestants, Emil.”

He rolls his eyes — everyone else is rewarded for manipulating the show except him. “And is that why you berated Otabek for ninety minutes about not kissing Yuri?”

She laughs — it isn’t exactly a pleasant sound, to say the least. “ _Someone_ had to.”

Emil knows about five ways to argue that point, but he knows that he’ll be accused — once again — of being a softie with no eye for drama. _I’m just making a TV show_ , Minako will say with her all-knowing smile. It’s a cheap, all-purpose excuse, but it’s one that she can’t be dissuaded from.

“I think you might need to rethink your board,” Emil finally says, getting up and walking over to it. “You’re giving your contestants their edits based on this, right?”

Minako looks away from the screen with a sigh, spinning around in her chair. Emil points at the _Villain_ card over Yuri’s photograph.

“Otabek is _crazy_ about him,” Emil adds.

“Yeah?” she asks. “Then why didn’t he _kiss_ him?”

“I thought the point of the interview was to answer that,” he jokes.

She grins. “People lie.”

***

It’s only his second rose ceremony, but the prospect is already about as appealing as getting shot in the chest. Maybe if he already had a rose, like Leo and Phichit, he wouldn’t feel quite so melodramatic about the whole thing. But the ceremony itself is flanked by long interviews on either end, and he refuses to admit out loud that he’s nervous — even though he can tell by Mila’s knowing smile that she can see straight through him.

Because he _is_ nervous.

It’s irrational, because over the last two hours, he’s reasoned with himself that it’s unlikely he would actually get eliminated this week. Sure, Otabek might have run hot and cold on him over the past week, but the mere fact that he’s _ever_ hot for him has to be a good sign. From what Yuri can tell both from observation and eavesdropping on the other contestants’ — shockingly candid — conversations, Otabek generally doesn’t stray too far from indifference with anyone else.

Plus, _JJ_ is still here.

So he’s expecting to last until about week five, if today is any indication. And then Otabek can live happily ever after with one of those boring guy who’ve been getting roses — Leo or Guang Hong or Phichit. Or live a happy six months and then have a split that’s well-covered in the tabloids. Yuri doesn’t plan on _reading_ them of course… but, well, Yuuko is _very_ into both figure skating and trashy magazines. So he’ll hear about it.

The room quiets down when Emil comes out and starts rambling — as usual — about what a beautiful, promising night it’s been. Yuri tunes it out. He’s standing on one end of the second row again. People must be creatures of habit, because Guang Hong is in front of him again, with Leo becoming a permanent fixture beside him. Yuri’s roommate, Seung-gil, is standing next to him.

Otabek walks in, and Yuri does look up for that.

“Unfortunately,” Emil says, finishing off his speech, “one of you will be going home tonight.” Then he gestures to Otabek, who takes a step closer to the roses.

“It’s been quite a first week,” Otabek says, looking just as uncomfortable as usual. Normally Yuri would feel a little bad, but he realizes he’s still a little bitter. Or a _lot_ bitter. “I’ve really gotten to know all of you at least a bit better, and I look forward to, uh, the coming weeks.” He pauses and looks at the platter of roses, picking one up. He stares at it.

And stares.

Yuri hates that his heart starts pounding. Stupid arbitrary game. But Otabek looks _good_ , as always. He’s got that steely, stoic look that he always has in front of the others. Yuri remembers the expression on his face when he’d raced away from that near-kiss earlier in the night — completely blank, practically lifeless. This week he’s gotten to see Otabek laugh and smile, but now it’s come back to just this.

The cameras finally stop moving, and Otabek looks up, straight at him. Yuri freezes, matching the look exactly, trying not to let his expression betray the fact that his throat has gone dry and his heart is pounding impossibly harder.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Otabek says, expression just as blank as always.

Yuri vaguely recognizes that Guang Hong moves closer to Leo to make room for him to step down, but he ignores it and hops off the side. A week ago, Otabek called out his name and he couldn’t do anything but grin. But now he wonders if this rose is just to placate him.

“Will you accept this rose?” Otabek asks.

“Sure,” he says. Otabek frowns a little, probably at his lack of enthusiasm, but Yuri isn’t about to pretend that he’s happy with the situation. Otabek tucks the rose into his jacket, and they stand there awkwardly for a second. It’s oppressive, but Yuri isn’t one for backing down. Otabek’s stare remains unflinching, but then his frown deepens and suddenly he reaches out.

Yuri is pulled into a hug. For a second, he remains stiff, but then he relaxes into it, wrapping his arms tightly around Otabek.

“I wanted to kiss you before,” Otabek whispers into his ear. “And still do.”

His voice is a little scratchy, and Yuri is struck with the urge to look at him. When he pulls back, Otabek looks almost terrified now — wide eyes, mouth slightly open. Yuri wavers for a second, wanting all over again to just lean in and kiss him — there was promise all over Otabek’s tone of things to come, and he’s already more than ready to cash in on that kiss. But it’s impossible to forget the crowd behind them — he can hear a cough that sounds like JJ.

So instead he just gives Otabek a smile, not missing the way one corner of Otabek’s mouth curves up in response.

Then he turns back around and goes back to his place on the platform.

***

It’s a little weird when Otabek hugs Yuri.

Okay, Guang Hong admits to himself, it isn’t really _weird_ — and, in fact, would be all but an expectation in every other past season of _The Bachelor_. But Otabek has proven to be _far_ from demonstrative. The rest of the room seems to be reacting in much the same way — he can vaguely hear as Chris and JJ whisper furiously to each other. Even Leo gives Guang Hong a shocked sidelong look.

Even though _Leo_ already got a kiss. _A **real** kiss_ , he’d told Guang Hong, smiling.

Guang Hong still isn’t sure why that bothers him so much.

Maybe it’s because he spent a solid three hours on Friday getting an interview from Sara. He’s beginning to realize that for all Sara’s sweet exterior, she’s willing to go for the jugular. Having watched so many seasons of this show, he knows she wanted tears from him, but he just didn’t have it in him. He knows he could’ve given her a sob-story about how confusing it is to get the first impression rose but not get any date the first week, but it’s a time-honored tradition of the show for that to happen.

He’s not worried, especially since Otabek had made a point tonight to pull him aside and tell him in no uncertain terms that he’s still very interested in getting to know him.

After all, it isn’t like he got a _two-on-one_ date or something awful like that.

Yuri finally makes his way back to his place on the podium, and then Otabek picks up another rose. There’s another long pause and then he says, “Guang Hong.”

Guang Hong grins and rushes forward. Otabek really has done everything in his power to help assure Guang Hong that his place on this show is very secure, and this is just another example. Getting called second at the rose ceremony isn’t bad at all, and seeing that hug between Otabek and Yuri gives Guang Hong the courage to reach forward and give Otabek a quick hug after he’s accepted the rose. Otabek is a little stiff, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Guang Hong makes it back to his place on the podium. “ _Nice_ ,” Leo whispers, giving him a grin.

***

“Yuuri K,” Otabek calls.

Viktor feels a jolt at Yuuri’s name. Not sure why, he shuts his eyes briefly to get himself back to normal. But when he opens his eyes, he finds his gaze drawn like a magnet to the back of Yuuri’s head.

Viktor sighs.

Sure, Yuuri looks objectively gorgeous today, but so does Otabek — so does _everyone_ , with perhaps a couple exceptions. Everyone is very television-ready, at the very least. But if Viktor is being honest, _no one_ looks as good as Yuuri does.

Yuuri gives a quiet, “ _Yes_ ,” to Otabek’s question, and Viktor feels an unmistakable pang of jealousy that’s only exacerbated when Yuuri turns around with a soft smile on his face as he looks down at the rose.

If Viktor weren’t so adept at keeping his expression composed, he might have flinched at that. As it is, he just looks up at the ceiling.

It’s odd, being here. There aren’t any clocks or electronics of any kind other than the cameras. He’s spent the last week listening as Phichit complains about his disintegrating social media skills. Viktor has felt it himself — he’s a long way from his Twitter and Instagram and _everything_. He wonders if his friends would’ve even noticed his absence had it not been heavily publicized.

He’s awaiting backlash, criticism. He’s more aware than anyone that his every move, every facial expression will be analyzed. It isn’t _arrogance_ , thinking that all eyes will be focused on him — it’s _experience_. It would be ridiculous to assume otherwise.

He didn’t come on this show to fall for anyone. He’s lived long enough to know that he’ll be denying that in hundreds of interviews from now until the end of time. But even if he _had_ come on here to fall for someone, it certainly wasn’t supposed to be _Yuuri Katsuki_.

If that’s what’s happening.

After a lifetime of jumping to conclusions, he’s not sure he’s willing to admit that yet.

“JJ,” Otabek says, and Viktor finds himself once again looking straight at the back of Yuuri’s head solely because JJ bumps into his shoulder as he steps down the platform. 

JJ accepts the rose and forces a hug upon Otabek — Viktor can’t help but wonder if it’s just to one-up Yuri. Once JJ’s back on the podium, Otabek calls, “Chris.”

Viktor sighs and waits. He doubts Otabek would bother to eliminate him this early — he hasn’t been on this show long, but he understands that he must be relatively safe. The rose ceremony is just another event in the relentless, boring purgatory that filming this show has been.

Admittedly, it _is_ a little relaxing for him.

He’s gotten used to the flow of the cameras, the short pause when they stop moving, the glance Otabek gives Emil, and then the clipped voice Otabek uses when he calls out this next name. This time: “Viktor.”

Viktor nods and steps off the podium, walking over to Otabek with a small, practiced smile.

“Will you accept this rose?” Otabek asks. He doesn’t sound terribly enthused. Viktor thinks he might be the only one to notice that Otabek only ever sounds even slightly enthusiastic around Leo, Guang Hong, or Yuri Plisetsky.

“Certainly,” Viktor responds.

Otabek puts the rose on him and Viktor walks back to his place. Yuuri grins at him, and Viktor almost stops short. It’s only years of practice that allows him to keep walking like normal, but he feels a faint blush on his cheeks as he returns the smile.

He tries to remind himself that he didn’t expect this to happen, but he’s beginning to realize that he doesn’t particularly mind.

***

“Otabek, gentlemen — this is the final rose of the evening.” Emil fixes him with a smile and then recedes back out of the cameras’ reach.

The second rose ceremony hasn’t been any easier than the first.

Michele and Minami are the only two left. Michele doesn’t look much beyond bored, but Minami is practically shaking. Otabek wishes he could’ve just given out the roses at once without all these theatrics, but he’s all too aware that he signed up for this. This show is nothing if not theatrical.

He picks up the last rose slowly and tries not to sigh.

“Michele,” he says.

Michele’s eyebrows raise in what seems to be the slightest of surprise, and then he strides forward, giving a quick, unenthusiastic, “Sure” when Otabek offers him the rose. Otabek doesn’t mind Michele’s apathy about the process, nor does he miss the way Michele’s eyes turn into a hard challenge when he spends a couple prolonged seconds looking off towards what Otabek assumes is Sara.

Then Michele turns around and goes back to the group.

Minami is hugging everyone near him, and latches onto Phichit for a full ten seconds as Emil comes back out of the shadows. “I’m sorry, Minami,” Emil says. “Please finish saying your goodbyes.”

Minami walks over to Otabek. “Sorry—” Otabek starts to apologize, but then the wind is knocked out of him when Minami pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Good luck with everything!” he whispers into his ear, and then he’s racing out of the room; Fischer, one of the cameramen, lumbers off with the camera in a vain attempt to keep up with him.

“I hope you’ve all enjoyed your first week!” Emil says with what Otabek imagines to be an ominous grin.

* * *

**Sunday**

The days bleed together. Otabek ends up going to sleep at wildly different times depending on what they’re shooting that day. Some days are lethargic and full of mind-numbing interviews, and others and full of dates and social interactions. Either way, every day he feels drained. If he didn’t have his practice schedule, his boredom during the off-moments would be unbearable.

Something about going to practice that morning has him stopping to pause. He can hear another voice outside — that same soft voice that he’d heard what feels like weeks ago but was actually only days. He wavers for a second. Would he hesitate even for a moment if it weren’t for the producers getting to his head? He quickly decides that no, he wouldn’t, and then he’s striding towards the voice.

“Hey,” Otabek says.

“Oh, god,” Yuri gasps out in Russian, sitting back on his legs as he looks up in horror. The cat gives Otabek what considers to be a disapproving look before stalking off into the bushes.

“Um, sorry about that.”

Yuri just shrugs and gracefully gets to his feet. He crosses his arms over his chest. Otabek certainly hadn’t intended for this lingering awkwardness, and he finds himself gripping the strap of his gym bag a little more tightly.

“Will you go to the rink with me?” he asks abruptly.

Yuri’s eyes widen, but he just stares silently for another minute. Otabek can feel a blush creep up his face — how could he not, with Yuri’s green eyes staring him down. Not to mention his skin-tight jeans.

“I thought that was, like, off-limits,” Yuri says.

“I don’t care.”

And he _doesn’t_. He doesn’t care about the rules — he cares about Yuri.

And apparently it was the right answer, because Yuri grins and reaches down to grab what looks like a notebook off the ground.

“Then let’s _go_ ,” Yuri says, grabbing the hand that Otabek offers.

* * *

_Next week, on The Bachelor…_

_An unexpected member of Otabek’s family shows up, bringing chaos to a group date._

_Everyone wants to avoid the dreaded two on one date. **Two men, one rose; one stays, one goes.**_

_Featuring: Someone’s motives for being on the show become suspect. New feelings come to light. Someone finds out Leo’s (other) deepest secret. And will Otabek and Yuri finally share their first kiss?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but between the length of chapters and work, this will probably be about the standard. Hopefully the chapters are long enough to make up for the wait :) The next chapter may be slightly delayed as I am having surgery and I'm not quite sure whether or not that will affect my ability to type for a week or two. 
> 
> Thanks as always to my best friend/beta/co-author Hannah!
> 
> Chapter title is from Taylor Swift's _Enchanted_.
> 
>  
> 
> [My tumblr](http://bradley-martin.tumblr.com/)  
> [Hannah's tumblr](http://otabeksundercut.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> If you want to see more of archery tag in action, [here's a YouTube video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBjo-I1GPEg) (we simplified the rules for the chapter)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! We love comments :)


	3. in the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do

**Tuesday**

They’ve been talking in the car for so long that the driver stopped his passive aggressive throat clearing and instead gave up and got out. Otabek can’t bring himself to so much as open the door, even though he knows Yuri is waiting to him to make the first move. The mansion looms outside, but he turned his body away from the sight of it about a half-hour ago

Inviting Yuri to come to his morning practices is one of the best decisions Otabek has ever made — and certainly the only thing that’s made his terrible decision to come on this show even remotely bearable. Not only does it give him an excuse to talk to the one person who he’s (mostly) sure isn’t lying to him, but he’s rapidly learning more about Yuri. How passionate he is about his work, all about his best friend and business Yuuko and her tattoo artist husband Takeshi, stories about his one semester in college. Everything about Yuri is a story, and Otabek is beginning to recognize the eager look in his bright green eyes when he has something he’s dying to say. And he can’t wait to hear more.

Yuri’s back is also to the car door, so that he and Otabek are facing each other, inching closer and closer as the minutes tick by, only a couple inches of careful space between them on the bench seat. Yuri’s long ponytail is swept over his shoulder, and he’s wearing grey leggings and an electric purple sweatshirt with the outline of a cat on it. Otabek is beginning to realize that Yuri would look perfect in absolutely _anything_. Right now, Yuri is leaning forward, hands wrapped around his sketchbook. “ _No_ ,” he exclaims, laughing. And Otabek doesn’t think he’s ever looked more beautiful.

“Seriously,” Otabek says, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “These producers are _insane_ — I never thought I would have to explain to someone that you don’t do figure skating _shirtless_.”

Yuri laughs again, throwing his head back. His sketchbook drops into the couple inches of space between them on the seat. It bumps against Otabek’s knee, and he can’t help but reach for it. Abruptly, Yuri’s laughing stops and his hand covers Otabek’s hand just as he grabs the notebook.

Otabek looks up, meeting Yuri’s eyes. Even though he’d never admit it, his breath is knocked out of him, just seeing Yuri this close. They _still_ haven’t kissed, even though Otabek has thought about it roughly a million times since then. Judging by that look in Yuri’s eyes, he’s in the same boat. Otabek once again considers remedying that situation right now, unconsciously leaning forward. But he only makes it a couple inches when he stops and looks down.

He doesn’t want to kiss Yuri _here_ — sitting in a Mercedes with dark-tinted windows, hiding from the world. Normally Otabek is more than happy to be antisocial, but the thought of kissing Yuri here makes him feel like there would be something to _hide_.

“Sorry,” Otabek finally says, letting go of the notebook. He drifts back until his back bumps against the car door.

Yuri pulls it back onto his lap. Otabek finally looks up at him, and he’s biting his bottom lip in what looks like annoyance. But when he talks, his voice is casual — _too_ casual. “It’s just — they’re still drafts.”

“I’m sure they’re good.”

“Anything can be _good_ ,” Yuri scoffs, and Otabek can’t help but smile. “Your routines—”

“They’re just drafts, too,” Otabek interrupts, and Yuri’s eyebrows raise. The one bad part of having Yuri tag along is that it’s nerve-wracking having an audience when he’s slowly trying out choreography, especially with no coach around. Most of the time, Yuri is immersed in his own work, but sometimes Otabek catches him looking.

Sometimes he botches his jumps after that.

“They’re better than good.”

Otabek feels the beginnings of a blush creep up his face, but before he can contemplate the least embarrassing thing to say next, there’s a swift _rap_ on the window. Otabek is about to turn around to look, but he nearly falls out the car when the door opens abruptly. The only thing that stops him is Yuri catching his arm. He’s surprisingly strong, more than able to yank Otabek’s body towards him.

By the time he finally turns around, Sara is leaning all the way into the car. “We’re having a meeting that you’re late for,” she snaps, glaring at Otabek. “Go to your wing where you were _supposed_ to be a half-hour ago. Emil, Mila, and _Minako_ are already waiting.”

She stands up straight, drumming the fingers of her hand impatiently on the door of the car. That doesn’t stop Otabek from taking his time getting out. He gives Yuri a wry smile, and Yuri sticks the tip of his tongue out at him. Then Yuri slams open his own door and jumps out, walking around the car towards the mansion. Just before he can make it past Sara, she grabs his arm. Otabek gets out slowly, listening carefully as she growls, “If you so much as let _one_ other contestant know that you’re gallivanting around with Otabek every morning, so help me _God_ we’ll make sure you’re never out of a producer’s sight again, got it?”

Yuri is silent for a minute, glowering down at her. His gaze slides to Otabek’s for a second, who starts taking a step forward. Yuri just gives a small shake of his head at him and then snaps, “Understood.” With that, he whirls around — his ponytail nearly whipping Sara in the face — and storms back into the mansion.

Sara turns around and grabs Otabek’s shoulder, shoving him in front of her as they start walking to Otabek’s living quarters. “ _Yuri_ , of all people,” she mutters.

***

Emil sits down on the only remaining chair in the living room, and Yuri sighs and sits back in his seat. It’s difficult to believe that just two hours ago he was sitting in a car with Otabek, but now he’s been thoroughly threatened by both Sara _and_ Mila, _and_ forced into an hour-long interview. But he doesn’t give a fuck how many lectures and interviews they try to torture him with, he’s just happy that he’s gotten to spend extra time with Otabek. It makes his time back in front of the cameras _almost_ bearable.

“Well, this week, there’s two dates,” Emil finally says. He’s wearing a grey v-neck and jeans. Yuri vaguely wonders if he just wandered in five minutes ago; even in an old sweatshirt that he got a thrift store in London, Yuri looks more dressed up than Emil. “First, a group date. And then a two-on-one. As you may or may not know, on a two-on-one, only one man receives a rose, and the other… goes home.”

Leo looks shocked at the news, and Yuri himself doesn’t feel exactly great about it either, but he catches a glimpse of Guang Hong rolling his eyes at the explanation as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. For the first time around someone other than Otabek, Yuri almost feels like laughing – he hadn’t known cute little Guang Hong was even capable of sarcasm.

Then Emil hands the date card to Michele and gets up. “Well, gentlemen, let’s have a good week!” He gives Michele an affectionate pat on the shoulder and then he’s out of the room.

Michele looks after him for a second, seeming oddly dazed. But all it takes it a tiny cough from Sara before he rips open the envelope — face flushing as he looks point-blank at the camera for a split second. He looks at the card and reads, “Let’s put this love to the test.” He blinks and looks up, then continues reading, “Yuri P, Yuuri K, Viktor, Seung-gil, Phichit, JJ, Chris, and… Leo.” Yuri rolls his eyes at the dramatic pause; Michele isn’t good for much, but he’s clearly been trained to be on this show.

“ _What?”_ Guang Hong exclaims, lurching forward and grabbing the card from Michele. He reads it frantically, a sour look coming over his face.

“What?” Leo whispers. “I mean, you’re still going to _come back_.” Yuri almost smirks when Leo’s gaze flickers to Michele, but Michele looks about as unconcerned as always.

Guang Hong sighs and looks back at Leo, “Even if I survive the date, no one who goes on a two-on-one stays very long after, Leo.”

“Says _who_?”

“You know that my cousin and I have watched _every_ season of this show.”

Yuri feels his own eyebrows raise. Things might finally be getting interesting.

* * *

  **Wednesday**

Yuri would never have guessed that this show would involve so much standing around, but he assumes it’s just another one of their many (and very effective) torture techniques. Emil comes in after about a half-hour, closely followed by Otabek, who immediately makes eye contact with Yuri. Yuri can’t help but break into his first smile of the day, not missing glares coming at him from either side — JJ far off to his right and Phichit sitting immediately on his left. But Otabek responds with a half-smile, and that’s all Yuri cares about.

“Well, guys, how’s your morning going?” Emil asks brightly, and Otabek stands awkwardly in the no-man’s-land between Emil and the contestants. Yuri desperately wants to stand next to Otabek, but his better judgment warns him not to rock the boat this early. He sighs and stays put.

There are a few people who mutter answers, but Yuri isn’t one of them. He stays completely silent, wondering why they’re in some sort of giant, empty event center. He surreptitiously looks around as Emil says something about how beautiful the morning is — Yuri doesn’t think the morning is particularly beautiful, especially since he didn’t get to accompany Otabek to the rink. He isn’t sure whether Otabek went to the rink or not, but he’s very certain that Otabek’s absence gave him absolutely no distraction from the other contestants.

Yuri had just tugged his hair into a high ponytail and dressed in black leggings and a long-sleeved shirt with a million cartoon cats all over it. They were told explicitly not to dress too _fancy_ , which was a little foreboding to Yuri. After all, he’s more comfortable in a suit (or suit equivalent). Especially when — in his limited experience — _not_ dressing up means there will be athletics involved. Which Yuri isn’t exactly eager to repeat, regardless of how victorious he’d been at archery tag.

“And we have a special guest today,” Emil says, a little louder this time. Yuri stops examining his nails — his usual black — and looks up, wondering what kind of b-list actor they conned into coming in today.

Yuri follows Emil’s gaze as the nearest double doors slam open. The most beautiful woman Yuri has ever seen strides in, a grin spread over her lips. Yuri _knows_ he’s seen that face before, but he doesn’t even have time to try to place her before Otabek gasps and runs forward, pulling her into a tight hug. Yuri can’t help but be stunned at that — he’s  desperately trying to find significance in half-smiles and infrequent touches, but Otabek is acting like _this_ with someone _else._

She gives a delighted giggle and wraps her arms around his middle, giving it a squeeze. “What are you doing here, Inkar?” Otabek asks.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yuri can’t help but let out, instantly feeling relieved. He can feel several pairs of eyes on him. “ _The_ Inkar,” he explains when Phichit raises his eyebrows at him. Phichit just gives him a blank stare in response, so Yuri adds, “I thought you liked taking photos? She’s a _supermodel_. One of the best.”

Phichit gives him a sour look before turning away pointedly.

“She’s his—” Leo starts to explain quietly, but then breaks off as Inkar starts to talk.

“I’m crashing your show — what does it _look_ like I’m doing?” Inkar laughs. She puts her arm around Otabek’s shoulder and nearly drags him over to Yuri and the other contestants.

Emil is grinning as though he single-handedly caused this miracle to happen. And maybe he did — Yuri is entirely unaware of how _anything_ happens on this show. He only knows that it’s off-season in the fashion world, otherwise they never would’ve managed to snag Inkar, sibling or not.

“And this,” Emil explains, “is Otabek’s sister, Inkar Altin — internationally known supermodel.”

“Hot family,” JJ says, his eyes raking over Inkar in a way that has Yuri shooting a glare over at him.

Inkar has long, dark hair in waves almost down to her waist. Her makeup is perfect in a way that almost looks effortless, and her short red shorts makes her long legs look even longer. Her white shirt hangs off one of her shoulders, and Yuri can see the strap of her red bra. She’s nearly as tall as her brother, even in Converse. But what Yuri notices the most is that smirk on her face as she looks from Otabek to the group of contestants — she looks completely game, very comfortable on camera, and more than ready to instigate some mischief.

“Emil kindly let _me_ pick the date,” Inkar says, “and I’m going to teach you _all_ how to be runway models."

***

Yuri has been dressed for twenty minutes, while everyone (or, at least, it _feels_ like everyone) surrounding him won’t stop complaining about wearing clothes that are a little tighter or flashier than usual. It’s becoming so frequent that he has to stop working on his eyeliner every five seconds to roll his eyes. Talk about fragile masculinity.

They’re all lined up side by side at individual mirrors. Everyone is wearing a bit of stage makeup, but the additional provided makeup is going untouched by everyone but Yuri, who continues smudging eyeliner around his eyes. He can’t help but give a sidelong look as Otabek and Inkar stop talking to Seung-gil and move onto JJ, the cameras shuffling after them. They’ve been going systematically down the line, Inkar lighting up as she talks to everyone, while Otabek remains his usual stoic self.

“I’m JJ,” Yuri hears him say, and his voice is almost lascivious. Yuri leans closer to the mirror and makes his eyeliner even thicker. “Some people call me _King_ JJ.”

“Do they?” Inkar asks, snorting. Yuri doesn’t even try to bite back his smirk, unable to stop himself from glancing in the mirror as JJ’s face falls.

“It’s _great_ to meet you. I’ve never done modeling — but I think it really _suits_ me, you know? Maybe I should’ve made a career of it.”

“And what _are_ you making a career of?”

Now Yuri glances at Otabek, who meets his eyes in the mirror. Yuri can’t help but give him a smile, just as unable to keep a blush off his face when Otabek smiles back. Inkar’s brown eyes are suddenly laser-focused on Yuri, but her x-ray ends as soon as JJ responds.

“Oh,” he says proudly, “mining.”

“Easy market entry,” Inkar comments dryly.

“It’s a _family_ business.”

“I assumed.”

Yuri finally finishes his eyeliner just as Inkar spins away from JJ, who looks a little defeated. Yuri would grin over that, but then he feels Otabek’s hand brush his shoulder. He gives a small, pleasant shiver, glancing over his shoulder to meet Otabek’s eyes. He’d been watching Otabek and Inkar make their way down the line, but Otabek had never done _this_ before — standing behind any of the men as though actually introducing a boyfriend. He gives Otabek a grin before turning back to Inkar, a blush on his face.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Inkar says, grinning. Her brown eyes flicker to Yuri’s shoulder, and Yuri feels Otabek’s hand drop. “I _recognized_ you, you know,” she adds, not missing a beat. “I adore your designs.”

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” he says, wishing — not for the first time — that he designed for women just so that he could get her to model for him. Yuuko shows him new designs every week or two, frustrated every time when he says he isn’t ready to break into that demographic yet. Maybe that time is finally coming; it _was_ one of the things he was hoping for when he agreed to come on the show, but those plans don’t seem quite as relevant anymore when he can barely think of anything other than getting to spend the most amount of time possible around Otabek.

Inkar ignores Yuri’s compliment — he’s certain she’s heard millions of them. “Young, gorgeous, _and_ talented. You’d really be the whole package for some lucky guy, huh?” She looks at Otabek, smirking.

Yuri grins and glances up at Otabek, who seems to be biting back his own smile. “None of your snap judgements,” Otabek says lightly.

“I don’t mind,” Yuri disagrees.

Inkar grins at him as she glides past him to Leo. “Ah, Leo — I guess I’ve never really seen you _out_ of the rink,” she says, pulling him into a hug.

Yuri turns back to the mirror, seeing JJ scowl at him. He grins back.

***

Leo peers out from one side of the stage. He doesn’t know anything about runway modeling other than what he’s _very_ infrequently seen on TV, and he can’t help but tug on his yellow suit in discomfort. He likes the suit and yellow is definitely his favorite color, but the idea of strutting in front of everyone is giving him anxiety like he’s never felt before. He has no issue with being in front of people when he’s on ice, but _modeling?_ It’s definitely out of his wheelhouse.

Sure, he’s done photo shoots for publicity, and he’s even done photo ads for sponsors, but he even finds _that_ uncomfortable. And this is far worse — there’s a _crowd_ out there, and there’s no room for error when he (invariably) messes up. At least in a photo shoot, they can just use another photo. There’s no such luck here.

Sure, Inkar gave them a quick crash-course in how to walk and how to act, but — like every time Leo has been around her — she’s going a million miles an hour, her overly-intelligent brain processing too many things at once to properly deliver instructions. As quickly as she showed up, she was running off with Emil and Otabek on either side of her, looking as comfortable as always.

Leo has never realized how nerve-wracking a group date could be, _especially_ without Guang Hong. He had thought he was nervous for his one-on-one, but at least that kind of date is something he _knows_ — well, at least, _theoretically_. Sure, he’s never really dated, but the concept of going on a date isn’t exactly foreign to him. Unlike a _group_ date.

And he didn’t realize how much he’s grown to rely on Guang Hong until now. Guang Hong seems to be an expert on not just about this show, but _everything_. Leo has heard him use business terms he probably couldn’t pronounce, he walked in on him discussing modern art with Seung-gil once, and he witnessed an entire conversation about studying languages with Phichit where Phichit made Guang Hong speak all the _three_ languages he knows besides English — Mandarin, French, and “some” Arabic.

So, yeah, Leo _knows_ Guang Hong would be able to tell him if he should just play it straight or try to be goofy or (God forbid) _sexy_.

The sight of the crowd doesn’t do anything to relieve his nerves. There must be well over a hundred people out there, milling around with glasses of champagne. “Who _are_ they?” he mutters, yet again knowing that Guang Hong would probably know the answer, if he weren’t stuck at the mansion with Michele.

Suddenly an arm snakes around his back and he flinches. He glances behind him just as the voice says, “Oh, Leo, darling, don’t you know _anything_?”

Chris.

Chris’s black suit is outlined in red and has slits up and down the sides. He doesn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest — instead, he for once looks completely in his element. His grin is catlike and he sweeps his arm out at the crowd. Leo vaguely notes Yuri standing nearby before he follows Chris’s lead and looks back at the audience again.

“It’s Bachelor Nation,” Chris says with gravitas.

“Oh,” Leo says, looking more carefully this time. He’s heard Guang Hong drop that term before, but he appreciates an excuse for a refresher when Yuri snaps, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Chris chuckles lightly and then answers, “Everyone who has been on this show in past seasons. The sacred club we’re now part of. Not _everyone_ seems to have been invited here today, of course.”

Yuri snorts.

“Jade and Tanner, Jason and Molly, Carly and Evan, _Sean and Catherine…_ Oh, look, hated Dean probably trying to get back in everyone’s good graces, and even Derek and—” Chris breaks off, squinting, and then suddenly his hand tightens on Leo’s shoulder. “ _Oh my God is that Olivia_?”

Leo turns around to see if Yuri’s face mirrors the confusion he’s very sure is on his own, but Leo just gets a glimpse of his black sunglasses before he turns and walks away. Leo turns back to Chris, who’s letting his arm drop from Leo’s shoulder and almost starts walking to the crowd like some kind of gravitational pull. Leo lurches forward and grabs the back of his jacket before he can get far from backstage. “You can’t just _go out there_ ,” he hisses.

“Right,” Chris says, sighing and turning back. “Will you at least do a shot with me to pass the time?”

“I don’t drink.”

Chris rolls his eyes and walks off. “Not _yet_ , anyway.”

***

The last two weeks have done nothing to desensitize Otabek to the strangeness of being put on display. And that feeling has never been stronger than right now; sure, the cameras are farther away, but there’s a literal _crowd_ of people. Many of them are fixing him with skeptical looks, which he certainly doesn’t blame them for, but it definitely doesn’t help him feel normal.

The only thing making it a little more tolerable is Inkar, who’s being her usual charming self. She can stun any of the men into complete silence with one of her trademark smiles. For the first time, he almost wishes he had even ten percent of that ability — maybe he could stop some of the awkward conversations he keeps having with the men on his season.

He didn’t mind the conversation with Rachel — she at least tried to give him advice from her time as the Bachelorette. Even if he appreciated the sentiment, one minute in the face of her vivacious personality let him know that any advice that she found useful probably wouldn’t work for him. Especially since he didn’t exactly enjoy his conversation with her new fiancé, Bryan.

“Okay,” Inkar finally says, grabbing his arm and leading him to one of the two seats at the very end of the runway. She pushes on his shoulder and he takes the hint, sitting down. She follows suit after giving a small nod to Sara. Sara is usually wearing short, brightly colored shorts and simple shirts, but today she’s in a short, fashionable dress. Her makeup is much darker than he’s ever seen it — her violet eyes look even more hypnotic than usual — and it occurs to him far too late that she’s going to be on stage.

“Are you ready?” Inkar asks.

“Yes,” he says, sounding more sure than he feels. He can feel the stares from all sides as others start to make their way to their seats. At the microphone now, Sara gives the warning that the show is about to begin; the noise from the crowd increases to a near-deafening level just for a minute or two, and then the quiet starts. “What am I looking for?” he asks softly, leaning over towards her while he keeps his eyes firmly on the runway. The lights are starting to dim and somehow he feels more nervous than he did at archery tag. At least archery tag was a _sport_ with a defined goal — this is something he’ll be forced to talk about in interview after interview, and he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to care about.

“Who gives a fuck?” she laughs.

His eyebrows raise as he looks at her. She’s been keeping up the charade perfectly for the camera, but now she finally has that wide, triumphant smirk that he recognizes all too well from their childhood — it surfaced every time she realized she was going to win a game they were playing.

“You get to watch a bunch of hot guys strut around and do something they hate. Isn’t it just _fun_?”

He rolls his eyes. He can’t help but be as amused by her antics as he always is, but he is also all too aware of the fact that he simply isn’t capable of taking things as lightly as she does. Her entire life is improvisational, while his is carefully structured and practiced hundreds of times before he allows for public consumption.

She laughs again and leans her head into his shoulder. “After all, you already _know_ if you like someone by now, right?”

He’s taken off-guard by the turn in conversation, which is part of the reason he can’t muster up any sort of poker face as he looks at her, unable to keep a smile from playing at his lips.

She gives him a mega-watt grin in response. “Yuri would be _quite_ a catch, if you don’t fuck it up.”

“I think I have it under control,” he says, just to get her to drop the subject — even if the crowd is mostly quiet, they’re still surrounded by a _crowd_.

She shrugs, her grin turning back into a smirk. “I’m not sure you do.”

He’s formulating his response, but then the lights go down.

***

Everyone else is full of manic energy — laughing and talking a mile a minute, practicing walking while others poke fun or give advice. Even JJ has taken things down a notch, probably because he looks like he might throw up at any moment. For once, the beginnings of the slowly-forming cliques have been forgotten.

Everyone, that is, except Yuri.

Yuri shoves his sunglasses on his face and pokes his head out from backstage. The music has just started blaring, earning even more uproarious chatter from behind him. Yuri has been told in no uncertain terms that he’s going last — Inkar seems to speak in nothing but the most certain of terms. Suddenly Sara appears, pulling Chris forward with an authoritative, “You’re up first.”

“As always,” he practically purrs, and Yuri rolls his eyes.

For all the hours of preparation, the actual fashion show flies by. Chris’s suit is as nearly-indecent as seems fitting for him. He walks the runway with the exact amount of over-enthusiasm that Yuri expected, going so far as to grope his own ass when turning back around. Yuri gives a roll of his eyes as the crowd screams.

Leo goes next, wearing a short-sleeved yellow suit, lined in orange. He looks just as awkward as Yuri expected, looking anticlimactically normal after Chris’s display. His face is completely crimson when he arrives backstage again, and he settles next to Yuri.

Yuri’s instincts tell him not to feel threatened by Leo; he’s seen the looks between Otabek and Leo, and they seem painfully one-sided. But Yuri doesn’t want to let his guard down. After all, Leo and Otabek seem to know each other fairly well — and even having a preexisting friendship is already more of an advantage than Yuri is comfortable with. Sure, Yuri can’t help but see himself as the clear frontrunner here, but he isn’t arrogant enough to think that he manages to see _everything_.

The pain twists in his stomach, and he leans out a little farther to try to see Otabek. He manages to catch a glimpse of his face just as JJ struts out. From this far away, Yuri _thinks_ that he looks just as stoic as always. Yuri himself can’t help but cringe as he sees JJ’s hideous lavender suit, and he nearly rolls his eyes out of their sockets when JJ puts his fingers into a JJ sign as he makes it to the end of the runway.

“He’s the _worst_ ,” Yuri groans, and Leo looks over at him with a grin. Leo is, of course, too nice to verbally agree with him. But Yuri can’t help but think that if Leo’s usual sidekick Guang Hong were around, he’d really have someone to commiserate with.

Next up is the other Yuuri, who is wearing a deep purple, sparkly suit. “Does he look… hot?” Chris asks, and Yuri nearly jumps out of his skin, not realizing that someone had been behind him. Now that he looks, both Chris and Viktor are just a couple feet away, and Yuri catches an odd look coming over Viktor’s face — soft and affectionate, like nothing that Yuri has ever seen before. “Like, maybe he _does_ get laid all the time.” Chris says it contemplatively, like he’s been keeping score.

“A real man-killer,” Viktor finally says dryly, casual tone belied by the faint blush.

“Isn’t that what people say about _you_?” Chris laughs. Viktor just smirks, and Yuri turns back around.

Yuri would never admit it, but Yuuri _does_ look good. He’s always considered Yuuri to be one of the more average-looking of the contestants. But with his hair actually styled and a suit that fits him properly, he seems to be winning the crowd over. They’re cheering as Yuuri does his best to put a surprising amount of sex appeal into his performance. Of course, it’s got nothing on Chris’s overtly sexual performance, but when Yuri sneaks a look back, Viktor’s face is completely red.

Seung-gil has by far the most interesting outfit — with _interesting_ being an understatement, even for Yuri. It’s a shirt with a deep v-neck, tiered in every color of the rainbow. Yuri can’t help but be shocked over how adept Seung-gil is at this — his stony expression is perfect for being on a runway. The crowd, of course, seems to think it’s an acting choice, and they give him a loud round of applause.

Phichit is next in a white and light blue suit. He’s going for a playful and friendly performance, which isn’t a bad way to follow Yuuri’s fairly successfully seductive one and Seung-gil’s meticulous one. Phichit is nothing if not charming to the masses, so the crowd loves him. Yuri vaguely wishes that the stage would just do him a favor and swallow Phichit up whole.

If Yuri’s instincts are warning him that Leo isn’t a threat, his instincts are pinging the exact opposite way about Phichit. Yuri’s stomach drops as he sees the huge grin that Phichit fixes Otabek with. Phichit is cute and boring and friendly and overall just the safest of safe choices. And most people prefer easy choices. Yuri has a string of ex-boyfriends who all lasted a month or less that are proof enough of that.

Yuri is nothing if not high-maintenance.

Phichit’s grin when he makes it back to the end of the runway is ecstatic. Yuri grinds his teeth together. He won’t go down without a fight. He straightens his jacket, now furiously awaiting his turn.

“Do you think Otabek likes him?” Yuri asks Leo. He didn’t even mean for the question to come out of his mouth, but Leo doesn’t seem to find it unusual.

“Yeah,” Leo answers quietly, sounding a little defeated.

Sara appears behind them. “ _Oh my god_ I thought I wouldn’t be able to find you,” she gasps, shoving Viktor towards the stage. “Go, go, _go_.”

Viktor looks like he was born for this. His suit is light and dark pink, and his smile is wide and charming. Yuri momentarily forgot what an amateurish show they’ve been putting on until he sees Viktor pausing in all the correct spots. He makes it back to the end of the runway to thunderous applause — whether because of his modeling performance or because he’s _the_ Viktor, Yuri isn’t entirely sure. He’s inclined to think that it’s the latter; Viktor is technically adept but not exactly full of personality. His smile has always had a tendency to look plastic, and that’s coming out today.

“Last one,” Sara says to Yuri, relief all over her tone.

Yuri tightens his ponytail out of habit and then walks out into the light. He’s no stranger to crowds and is even more familiar with fashion (even if he hates wearing another designer’s clothes). Sure, he isn’t used to being on _this_ end of things, but he knows what works and what doesn’t. An easy grin slides onto his face as he dips his jacket below his shoulder blades before straightening it again. It’s just a little tease, but the crowd already gives a cheer. He walks forward with purpose, his eyes glued to Otabek on the other end. It was hard to see him from off the side, but now he’s directly in front of him. Yuri’s smile widens even further, and suddenly Otabek gives him a small smile in return.

When Yuri gets nearly to the end, he drops his jacket and throws it into the crowd. He can feel the cool air hitting his back — his shirt is full of horizontal slits across the back. Then he turns to Otabek, quickly walking the rest of the way down the runway. Pausing at the end, he flicks his sunglasses off, too. The roar is deafening now, and he reaches one hand down to Otabek.

To his surprise, Otabek stands and pulls off his fingerless glove. Without even stopping to think, Yuri puts his other hand on the side of Otabek’s face. Just as he’s about to remove his hand and start walking the other way, Otabek turns his head and takes Yuri’s finger in his mouth.

Yuri freezes.

Then Otabek’s teeth press against the fabric of his glove, and Yuri takes his cue to yank his hand back, the glove coming off in Otabek’s mouth. Otabek pulls the glove out of his mouth and flicks it to the ground. With a smirk, he sits back down.

They stare at each other for a smoldering moment, waves of shock rolling over him as he stares into Otabek’s eyes. Yuri wishes he hadn’t resolved himself to Otabek making the first move to kiss him. Because what he’d _like_ is to jump off this stage right now and unceremoniously _make out_ with him — _screw_ professionalism, he wants Otabek _now_.

Recovering, hoping that no one can tell that his face is flushed, he turns back around and struts the rest of the way back.

He considers finding the nearest wall to bang is head against. He also vaguely contemplates finding the nearest bathroom to jerk off in, but before he can do much more than consider it, JJ reaches out and slides his arm around Yuri’s shoulders. That effectively kills Yuri’s mood.

“I think you were the second-best, after me,” JJ says.

Yuri just slaps JJ’s hand away from his shoulder and stalks off.

***

Sure, his four days of forced captivity before the show even started were nothing short of torturous, but those days already feel like a distant memory. Guang Hong has always _heard_ about the crippling boredom of being on this show, but he never knew exactly how bad it would be until they others left for the group date this morning. He had sat in bed and approved of Leo’s casual clothing — though he had the sneaking suspicion that Leo would probably be forced to change for whatever date they were going on. Then Sara came and dragged him down to the living room. He sat there in his sweatpants and no shirt, yawning as everyone left. He was sure that his and Michele’s presence was only required for sad, two-on-one date foreshadowing shots during the episode.

Then he went back upstairs and slept another two hours.

But _this_ boredom is by far the worst. He hasn’t realized how much he’s grown to depend on Leo’s ever-energetic presence until today, with the entire mansion a virtual wasteland. There’s a bored P.A. on her phone that Guang Hong half-considers trying to bribe into getting him another book or even _fifteen minutes_ of social media time — just to _look,_ not to _post_ — but he knows just as well that she’d be immediately fired and then sued within an inch of her life if she agreed.

Guang Hong also knows that Michele _should_ be around here somewhere, but other than the perfunctory nod that Michele gave him as he walked outside while Guang Hong cooked himself an overly extravagant breakfast (because it was _something_ to do, and breakfast food is the only thing he’s remotely competent at cooking), Guang Hong hasn’t seen any evidence of him. He doesn’t blame Michele for keeping to himself — he’s heard others’ whispered rumors about him and Emil just as clearly as Michele himself probably has.

He meanders outside, noticing that it’s at least twenty degrees warmer than the already oppressive heat he’d experienced when he’d gone running before breakfast. He strips off his shirt as he walks, tossing it onto one of the nearby chairs.

As he gets a little farther out into the lawn, he spots someone doing laps in the pool. He was planning to take his daily swim later — he’s already wearing his swim trunks — but one look at the pool has him dying for a relief from the heat. Plus, Michele is there and he _really_ just wants some human contact.

He slides his feet into the pool as Michele is finishing his lap. He isn’t as fast of a swimmer as Guang Hong, but he looks comfortable in the water. He then looks decidedly _uncomfortable_ as he abruptly stops swimming and gets to his feet in the pool, glaring at Guang Hong as he rips off his purple swim cap. 

Guang Hong pulls his feet out of the water like it instantly turned to lava.

“What?” Michele asks, a little sharply. “Does someone want an interview or something?”

“No… I was just, uh, bored.” He tries to smile but Michele’s gloomy energy sucks it right out of him. He can’t help but instantly regret coming out here. Now he misses Leo more than ever; Leo never makes him feel any way but welcome and wanted, a far cry from being near Michele.

“I was done, anyway, if you want to swim.” Michele runs his fingers through his brown hair with a sigh, tossing his swim cap onto the tile surrounding the pool.

Guang Hong tentatively sticks his feet back into the water. When Michele doesn’t look any more or less hostile, he dips into the pool, conscious to be as graceful as possible. Michele is one of the few people who he decidedly _doesn’t_ have a handle on. Sure, he’s heard the same rumors everyone else has, but for all the affection he’s developing for Phichit, Guang Hong can’t help but be wary of _any_ rumors that surface in a house full of guys who quite simply have _nothing else to do_.

“I guess I just wanted to… talk.” He realizes that might sound weird, so he immediately adds, “Because I’m _bored_.”

He looks at Michele, hoping for the commiseration that he’s become accustomed with the other guys, but instead Guang Hong finds himself starting to frown at Michele’s ever-unchanging expression. Finally, after a long minute, Michele nods. Perking up a bit, he gives Michele a tentative smile.

_Are you really only on this show because Sara is your sister?_ is the question he wants to fire off — the rumors are _definitely_ getting to him — but he bites it back. Sara seems like a safe subject, though, and he sinks down further into the water as he asks, “Is it nice having your sister around?”

Michele brightens a little at that, almost looking human. He briefly throws Guang Hong a suspicious look, but after a once-over, immediately probably realizes that Guang Hong could never in _any_ version of reality have any interest in his sister. Then a half-smile comes back over him and he says, “It’s interesting to see her at work. I’m not sure she likes having _me_ around — setting me up to—” he breaks off, dunking his head into the water.

Guang Hong stares at him, wracking his brain, trying to finishing his sentence. _Setting me up to get axed on this date_ , probably. Guang Hong isn’t arrogant but he _did_ get the first impression rose. Sure, he might be nervous going into a date that has at least a fifty percent chance of him getting eliminated, but he also knows the score; someone’s going home in two days, and odds are _really_ good it’s Michele.

“Sorry,” Guang Hong says lamely, just because it’s going to be the only time he’ll be able to say it. He doesn’t really _mean_ it, but he doesn’t feel great that he’s going to have to watch Michele get eliminated while he walks off into the literal sunset with Otabek.

Michele just shrugs. If there was a brief dismantling of the brick wall between them, it’s certainly gone back up again. Michele is staring morosely off into the distance, and Guang Hong can’t help but wish that he’d just taken up Michele’s offer to take his turn swimming laps.

“Well, I guess I think it would be nice having people you like around — your sister and Emil, I mean.” Guang Hong flounders over his words, immediately regretting saying anything at all.

“What _about_ Emil?” Michele snaps, giving him the same up-and-down look that he gave Guang Hong when he brought up Sara, but this time his gaze lingers suspiciously. Those strange, violet eyes meet Guang Hong’s again, narrowed in anger.

“Just, like — you’re friends, right? It’s good to have friends, especially when you can’t use your phone and stuff.”

Guang Hong doesn’t exactly _blame_ Michele for not even attempting to hide how annoyed he looks. Guang Hong would be annoyed, too, if everyone were constantly accusing him of being into someone — especially someone like _Emil_ , who Guang Hong assumes is probably straight.

“Maybe getting eliminated won’t be so bad,” Michele snaps, climbing out of the water from the side, probably because the stairs are located _right_ next to where Guang Hong is standing. “At least I won’t have to deal with these fucking _questions_.”

Guang Hong bites his lip silently as Michele stalks off in the direction of the mansion. For a second, there’s silence, and then the slamming of a door. He sighs and dips under water, staying down there for a few seconds, eyes closed. When he pops back up, he can’t help but feel guilty, but he also knows that he probably shouldn’t track Michele down again.

With another sigh, he realizes that his swim cap and towel are still up in his bathroom upstairs. He groans and buries his face into the tile, unable to stop himself from wishing Leo were back.

***

Inkar has her arm linked with Otabek’s — as she likes to do — as they walk into the garden. Otabek has already been on this show long enough to expect the sectional with all the men on it, the drinks in everyone’s hand, the way they expectantly look up at him. “They really picked you some hot men,” Inkar murmurs to him.

Otabek rolls his eyes. 

She sits down on the only chair in the group, and he sits at the edge of the sectional next to Phichit. He meets Yuri’s eyes and tries his best not to blush when he thinks about that scene he made at the fashion show. Now Yuri is the one smirking.

“Well, I hope everyone enjoyed our day,” she says with a grin, and Otabek doesn’t miss the way her eyes flicker over to Emil. He can’t help but wonder if she’s been coached the way he _always_ is — though definitely a lot _less_. “It was great to see everyone become _expert_ supermodels — some more expert than others. At this point, I’ll give my big brother the group date rose.” She reaches out with a rose, and Otabek gets up to take it from her. When she sits back down, she leans over to whisper something in Yuri’s ear, who just grins back at her. “Good luck to whomever receives it.”

“You’re leaving already?” Otabek asks quietly, surprised.

She nods. “I have to fly back to Dubai. Walk me out?”

And so they walk back the way they came. Normally Otabek would be annoyed that she came in only to immediately leave again, but he knows she was probably asked to make one last speech. When they get to the flower arch entrance, he notices the D.P. standing there with his camera. They both pause, and she lets go of Otabek’s arm.

“I’m glad I came,” she says, a sad smile on her face.

“Me, too.”

“You know who you’re going to give that to, right?” she asks, pointing to the rose in his hand.

He looks down, feeling himself blush. “What did you say to him?” he asks.

She laughs — her usual perfect, bell-like laugh. Even growing up, she was always more outgoing than him. A younger sister, but she always thought she knew best. And she always _did_. “I asked him to take good care of you,” she answers.

He shakes his head, smiling just slightly. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m _never_ wrong.” Then she crushes him in a tight hug. “Good luck with everything. They tell me I’ll be able to come back in a few weeks.”

“At least there’s that.”

She laughs again. “My usual, _enthusiastic_ big brother.”

And then she’s off, just as quickly and abruptly as she came. Otabek stares off after her for a minute, stymied by the D.P. but he still watches as she gets into the waiting limo. Once it drives off, he sighs and turns back around, walking back to the contestants. The walk seems longer without Inkar, and her words play in his mind. She’s always been so sure of everything — it’s her gift, and even though it _seems_ like something that should backfire on her, it’s rarely ever her curse.

But, for once, he thinks he’s just as certain.

He makes it back to the other contestants, not even allowing himself a second to reconsider. “Yuri, can I talk to you first?” Otabek asks without even bothering with whatever impassioned speech he’s sure is expected of him. His hand tightens around the rose.

Yuri jumps up with a grin.

***

Yuri follows Otabek around some hedges to another secluded seating area. Otabek tosses the rose onto the table and then looks at Yuri. Yuri can’t help but stare as the forgotten rose rolls haphazardly a few inches down the table, wondering if this means that Otabek _won’t_ give him that rose. There’s a million signs and signals he can read from Otabek, but a group date rose is _the_ sign.

The one sign that can’t be misinterpreted. 

Then he looks back up at Otabek, who’s staring at him with such an intensity that Yuri momentarily forgets how to breathe.

“Otabek?” he asks tentatively.

Then Otabek launches himself at Yuri. His arms wrap around Yuri’s neck and then he’s leaning up to reach his lips. There’s no softness, even in the beginning — he’s _hungry_. Yuri suddenly realizes that cool, calm, and collected Otabek has been just as pent up as he has. Otabek deepens their kiss, and Yuri’s hands go instinctively to Otabek’s hips so that he can pull them flush against each other. One of Otabek’s hands is threading through his hair, and it’s all Yuri can do to not start yanking off Otabek’s jacket.

He’s known since he got here that he _wants_ Otabek, but he had no idea how good this would feel. It’s good enough that Yuri forgets all the cameras for a few minutes.

Otabek finally pulls back, but he keeps his arms around Yuri’s neck. Yuri flushes instantly, watching as Otabek’s face turns pink. “Finally,” Otabek breathes.

Yuri grins, leaning down and brushing his lips against Otabek’s jaw, satisfied with the small shiver that seems to run through him. “I was being very patient, unlike you,” he jokes.

“Were you?” Otabek asks, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the couch. They sit down, Otabek turning to face him.

Yuri can’t stop grinning like an idiot. He can’t remember ever being this giddy over a kiss. Even Otabek starts grinning, but that’s cut off quickly when Yuri leans forward to kiss him again. There’s a sound in the back of Otabek’s throat — almost a moan — as he kisses Yuri back, sliding even closer to him. For half a second, Yuri thinks that he’s going to climb on top of him — and _God_ , how much does he want that — but Otabek just holds them still.

When Otabek pulls away this time, he buries his face into Yuri’s neck, and Yuri can’t help but blush all over again.

“Am I going to have to strip every time I want you to kiss me?” Yuri jokes, trying to keep things light. Trying _not_ to let Otabek know how invested he’s already becoming.

Otabek snorts and pulls back. “You looked… _good._ Um, on that runway.”

“You’re the one who bit my glove off.”

They both flush a little at that memory, and Yuri leans in again. Stopping himself just short of kissing him — _don’t be too eager_ , he warns himself, he wavers awkwardly. Otabek seems to be pulled out of the spell at the same time, and he blinks and looks at the camera that’s positioned a few feet behind his shoulder. Then he reaches for the rose on the table.

“Will you accept this rose?” he asks softly.

“Yes.”

Otabek leans forward and slips the rose into his jacket pocket — his jacket is once again ill-equipped for the rose.

“Maybe I should wear normal clothes sometimes.”

“Don’t,” Otabek says so quietly that Yuri can’t help but think he might’ve imagined it.

“Of course you’d give me a group date rose the one week we aren’t having a rose ceremony,” Yuri jokes.

Otabek laughs — actually laughs — and then leans forward and kisses him again.

***

“It’s a bit anti-climactic,” Phichit says, with what Viktor could only describe as petulance in his tone. And all over his face. Phichit is sitting on the other side of Yuuri — a placement that’s rapidly becoming their routine — but his eyes are laser-focused where Yuri, Chris, and Leo are standing on the opposite side of the gardens. Seung-gil has gone off by himself and JJ is talking with Otabek ( _Poor Otabek,_ Viktor can’t help but think).

“What is?” Yuuri asks. 

Viktor has been trying not to stare at Yuuri, but he supposes that it’s normal to look if Yuuri’s _talking_. He tries not to get too mesmerized by Yuuri’s hair pushed back like that, or his gentle, friendly smile. Not to mention the lingering memories of that _suit_ he wore at the fashion show. But Viktor carefully leans so he can see Phichit.

“Yuri already _has_ the rose,” Phichit responds, eyes narrowing _just so_. Viktor follows his gaze, seeing the rose prominent on Yuri’s purple jacket. It’s probably a big part of the reason that his usually sour expression seems fairly neutral; from the couple years that Viktor has known Yuri, that’s about the best a person can expect from him.

“I mean, there isn’t going to be a rose ceremony anyway,” Yuuri says. “Not unless, like, something _really_ weird happens on that two-on-one date.”

“Why does he _like_ him?” Phichit says. Then, finally, he blinks and looks away, flushing. His expression is a bit guilty as he meets Yuuri and Viktor’s gazes. “I mean, not that he, like, _shouldn’t_. I guess.” Viktor has never seen Phichit look so flustered before, and it’s more amusing than it should be to see Phichit shake his head rapidly as his face turns completely red. “I know he’s your friend, Viktor, but I mean, _come on_. He’s, like… not exactly husband material. No offense.”

Viktor waves a hand serenely. He does like Yuri well enough, but Phichit is fine, too. And he certainly isn’t here to be anything other than a bystander. The term ‘husband material’ rubs him the wrong way, just a little, but he just turns to Yuuri as he says, “It’s hard to tell.” He glances at Viktor before flushing and turning back to Phichit. “He must see _something_ in Yuri. I mean, other than the obvious.”

Viktor glances over at Yuri, wondering what exactly Yuuri considers to be ‘obvious’. It’s pretty undeniable that Yuri Plisetsky is one of the more beautiful people that Viktor has ever laid eyes on — and he’s no stranger with many models and actors. But he doesn’t know what Yuuri is looking for.

Just then, Yuri looks up and notices all three of them staring at him. He looks confused at first, and then his eyes narrow in anger. He opens his mouth with what Viktor is sure would have started nothing short of a brawl, but just then Otabek comes back with JJ in tow.

“Phichit, can we talk?” Otabek asks.

Phichit’s face lights up as he jumps to his feet. Viktor notices as JJ goes over to try to force Seung-gil into a conversation — Viktor isn’t sure of how successful he’ll be.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I just think maybe this is the first time that Phichit’s ever been out of his element, you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Viktor says, and means it. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’s getting a perverse enjoyment out of this petri dish of a show. _Everyone_ seems to be going a little nuts; Phichit making a couple of vaguely unkind comments isn’t something particularly concerning to Viktor.

Yuuri sighs and settles deeper into the couch. Viktor glances back at him and follows suit, a small part of his brain wishing that the two of them were like Leo and Guang Hong — comfortable enough already to use each other as pillows. But their silence is companionable, at least, and Viktor only breaks it to say softly, “You did really well today, you know.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen as he looks at Viktor. “Uh… thanks.” He’s blushing.

Viktor can’t help but think that’s cute. He also can’t help a catlike smile from stretching across his face. He leans over and bumps his shoulder again Yuuri’s. “It was like a whole new side of you, to be honest.”

Yuuri’s face is now completely red. “You looked good, too,” he says in a surprisingly calm voice, catching Viktor completely off-guard. Viktor feels his own face flame up, and looks over to see Yuuri smiling now.

Viktor gives a quiet chuckle. Then suddenly they’re both laughing. Yuri looks over at them with his eyebrows raised, but neither of them care. The laughter is infectious, and it goes on longer than it has any reason to. Yuuri wipes a tear away from his eye when he finally stops laughing, and Viktor once again can’t stop staring.

He knows he’s in far too deep already.

* * *

  **Thursday**

“Guang Hong!” someone calls.

Guang Hong shoots up in bed, about to scramble into some sort of fighting crouch, but even with bleary eyes he can see an overly chipper Leo sitting on the side of his bed. It’s presumably the middle of the night, but Leo is nothing but bright smiles. Guang Hong can’t help but give him a smile in return, blushing furiously as it occurs to him to wonder if this might be a dream — but why would he be dreaming about _Leo_ , of all people?

He _must_ be awake.

“What _time_ is it?” Guang Hong asks, and that immediately turns into a loud yawn. Guang Hong is probably a heavy sleeper by nature, but entirety of his life has squashed that instinct. At his apartment in Seattle, his cousin Delun can’t so much as walk past his door without startling him awake. And here in the mansion, there has been night after night of Guang Hong waking up to unfamiliar noises. The fact that Leo managed to make it into their shared room and to Guang Hong’s _bed_ is concerning in a way that his sleep-clouded brain can’t process. Especially with Leo’s face _right there_.

“Three in the morning,” Leo responds, his grin not fading in the slightest. Guang Hong notices that he’s still in the suit that he’d been instructed to bring along to the date, for what he assumed to be the post-date cocktail party. It’s royal blue, and Guang Hong can’t help but be glad that Leo woke him up, _just_ to see him wearing that color.

“Um.” He tries and fails to compose his brain. There’s a bit too much going on — being woken up, Leo’s brown eyes, Leo’s weight _on his bed_. He becomes aware far too late that his blanket has pooled in his lap, so his entire bare chest is exposed. He quickly dismisses that concern, even when he sees Leo’s gaze flicker over him. “Um, how did it go?” he finally manages. He takes one look at Leo’s lapel and there’s no group date rose in sight.

“Great!” Leo says, and jumps into a tale of what turned out to be a fashion show. Guang Hong pulls his knees up to his chest to give him something to rest his head on. At first, he almost wants to nod off again, but when Leo says that magical phrase, _Bachelor Nation_ , suddenly he’s shooting questions off just as fast as Leo can give him non-answers.

_Where the fuck is Chris when you need him?_ Guang Hong can’t help but wonder. Leo barely knows who Nick Viall _is_ , let alone everyone else in attendance.

“You didn’t get the date rose?” Guang Hong asks softly, once he’s exhausted Leo’s limited memory of the evening. He’s more awake now, leaning closer to Leo, sharing the dark chocolate bar that Leo had grabbed from the kitchen on the way up. It’s not hot chocolate — one of his weaknesses, even during this heat — but Guang Hong still appreciates any sort of gift if he’s going to be woken up. He’s still not quite sure why Leo hadn’t just saved his stories until morning, but it _is_ obvious that Leo has pent-up energy for some reason or another.

Leo shrugs with nonchalance that Guang Hong _almost_ believes — but he thinks they might finally be getting to the real reason for Leo’s behavior. Leo reaches down to his jacket and then jumps off the bed, discarding it quickly. For a second, Guang Hong thinks about not watching, but he finds himself staring as Leo’s shirt and undershirt come off next. Suddenly his pants are gone, too, and then he’s just in boxers. Guang Hong has seen Leo in the hot tub that _one_ time, but he still feels his face flame up, grateful that Leo only turned one lamp on, so the room is still dim. He watches, mesmerized and sleepy, at the way the planes of Leo’s back make his Olympic rings tattoo undulate as he reaches into his dresser and yanks on a pair of sweatpants. Then he grabs a faded _Birdemic_ shirt from the ground and tugs it on.

_That’s my shirt_ , Guang Hong almost says, but it doesn’t feel right to say when Leo is about five seconds from freaking out. Plus, he doesn’t exactly mind. 

“Yuri got the rose,” Leo finally tells him. He looks back at Guang Hong, frowning. “Yuri _Plisetsky_.”

Guang Hong knows this process is more difficult for some people than others. Every season of the show, some people fall apart and some people compartmentalize — making it through with their sanity intact. But Guang Hong understands that look Leo is giving him — he’s had hours to brood over the exact meaning of the rose, the way Guang Hong has had a full day to overanalyze why he’s getting a two-on-one. 

“Well, the rose is kind of pointless anyway,” Guang Hong says, trying to be as positive as possible for Leo, just because it’s odd to see him looking so pensive. “I mean, _you’re_ not going home — and it’s only week three.”

“ _You’re_ not going home, either,” Leo exclaims — a little too loudly for the late hour — and comes back over to Guang Hong’s bed. When he sits down, it’s closer this time. “You’re _not_. Otabek would have to be an _idiot_ to send you home… like, especially over _Michele._ ” Guang Hong can’t help but blush _and_ raise his eyebrows — he’s never heard Leo talk bad about anyone; he didn’t even know Leo was capable of that sort of thing. “I’ve known Otabek forever, and he isn’t an idiot.”

Guang Hong smiles, reaching out to poke Leo in the chest. “Thanks,” he whispers, not meeting his eyes. “And I really do think you’re safe. I really do think Otabek likes you.” When he looks up, Leo is bright red. Then Guang Hong puts his hand flat against Leo’s chest for a second, feeling the hard lines of him before he bunches the fabric of his shirt in his fist. “And this is _my_ shirt!” he playfully exclaims, trying to lighten things up.

Leo bursts out laughing, half-getting up off the bed to try to pull away from Guang Hong, but he just holds on tighter. Then he grabs Guang Hong’s wrist and tries to pull it off. He looks up at Guang Hong with his eyebrows raised. “You’re _strong_.”

“And you’re a _thief.”_

“How do you know it’s not mine?”

“ _Birdemic_? Shock and Terror? The movie with the worst sound quality known to mankind? You think that shirt isn’t _mine_?”

Leo laughs, crouching onto his knees to give him more leverage to pull away, but Guang Hong keeps hanging on. They stay suspended like that for a second. “We should watch it together sometime. I love bad movies, too.”

Guang Hong flushes and finally feels his grip loosen on the shirt. “Last time I checked, the nearest TV is probably like ten miles away from this compound.”

“I meant after, like — all this.”

Guang Hong’s mind is wiped completely clean with that comment, and he wishes that he didn’t suddenly have a strange sensation of his heart threatening to beat straight out of his chest. He lets go of the shirt like his hand was suddenly lit on fire. Leo looks at him with that same grin, completely impervious to the meltdown happening two-and-a-half feet away from him.

“Yeah,” Guang Hong finally agrees. He sticks his feet back under his blankets. “You _really_ should sleep.”

Leo nods and gets off his bed, humming a song Guang Hong doesn’t recognize. He crawls into bed and flicks off his lamp. “Goodnight, Guang Hong.”

“Goodnight,” Guang Hong whispers, turning onto his side.

***

This time, Guang Hong wakes up slowly. His initial waking thoughts are normal — or, at least, normal for this _Bachelor_ -era of his life — wondering if it’s even time to wake up yet, what he should wear today, how best to play this two-on-one, whether or not he’ll be able to get his _Birdemic_ shirt back from Leo when the producers make him pack before the date.

The _dreaded_ date.

He scrunches his eyes closed a little harder, trying to curl up to fight against the war of waking up. And that’s when he realizes exactly what woke him up for the second time that night.

He doesn’t seem to be alone in bed.

His eyes fly open, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from flinching and accidentally launching himself off the other side of the twin bed. Even as he forces his body to stay completely still, he feels his heart start to hammer.

Leo.

_Leo_. 

Guang Hong quickly glances around the room, just to confirm for certain that Leo is in _his_ bed, and not the other way around. Sure enough, there are bunched up covers on Leo’s bed, but Leo apparently didn’t _stay_ there.

Because here he is, sleeping on his back right next to Guang Hong. Even worse is the minor detail that Guang Hong’s arm is slung over his chest.

_There’s hardly any room in this bed_ , Guang Hong tells himself frantically, inching his arm off of Leo at a glacial pace, praying that Leo doesn’t wake up in the middle of the process. _There’s hardly any room in this bed, I probably just did that accidentally… or to save space_.

Even in his thoughts, it seems silly.

He finally gets his arm back to his own side, and then he slowly scoots so that their bodies are no longer touching. He has no idea how or _why_ Leo ended up in his bed, but as he gracelessly but silently lets himself fall off the edge of the bed, he can’t help internally cursing Leo.

He sits up shakily _,_ gaze gravitating back towards Leo before he can even consider it. It’s easier to look now that his brain doesn’t feel like it’s imploding — Leo looks calm and comfortable, none the wiser of the panic attack still raging within Guang Hong.

Guang Hong has woken up next to men before, of course, but certainly never _unexpectedly_. He didn’t even know it was _possible_ for someone to sneak up on him, let alone end up in his bed. He’s been away from the real world too long; his skills are deteriorating at a disorienting rate.

Unless the problem is _Leo_.

Maybe Leo is becoming his own personal Kryptonite.

Leo shifts in bed, his long hair fluffing out on the pillow and his flips over to his side so he’s facing Guang Hong. If he were more awake, Guang Hong would blame his current mental state on surprise or sleep deprivation. But all he can do is quietly exhale as he wishes he could climb back into bed.

_I should’ve stayed like that_ , is his fleeting thought — he didn’t mean to think it, but as soon as he does, he flushes completely red and stands up.

_Otabek_ , he tells himself firmly. _Otabek, Otabek, Otabek._ If he’s learned anything over the course of his life, it’s compartmentalization.

Avoidance.

The best ways to escape.

He grabs the pair of swim trunks sitting on top of his dresser and then leaves the room as silently as possible.

***

Yuuri hears thumping bass coming from Viktor’s room, so he walks by with exaggerated slowness. He’s sure that most of the rules of the house don’t apply to Viktor — other than the ironclad cell phone rule — but it still sounds strange to hear music coming from anywhere.

He pauses outside the door, rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels, contemplating knocking on the door. Then he hears what sounds like keys pounding — even from behind a closed door, it sounds nothing but angry. Yuuri has heard every one of Viktor’s songs so many times that they’ve become part of his soul, so he knows that this sounds like something completely different.

“Yuuri!” Phichit calls, stepping out of their room down the hall. He’s grinning, apparently not seeing anything odd about Yuuri standing outside of Viktor’s door. Yuuri puts his finger to his lips and then meets him down the hallway. “Are you becoming, like, a stalker-fan now?” he asks, gesturing to Viktor’s door with a wide grin.

Yuuri can’t help but blush, but he ignores the question and asks, “Did he eat breakfast? It’s almost lunchtime.”

Phichit shrugs, not looking terribly concerned one way or the other. “I mean, Mila’s his sister, right? Probably wouldn’t let him _starve_.”

Yuuri feels silly, remembering that, but Phichit is just examining his nails, picking at the navy polish on his thumb. Yuuri still remembers Yuri’s screaming last night at Phichit stealing his nail polish. Phichit had just laughed it off and blamed Yuri’s ‘immaturity,’ and Yuuri had been silent, not wanting to point out that Phichit was _definitely_ at fault.

Then the music starts back up again, louder this time. Yuuri can vaguely hear Viktor singing, but now that he’s halfway down the hallway, he can’t hear anything clearly. Phichit looks at Viktor’s closed door and then back at Yuuri, eyebrows raising. Maybe Phichit can see the instant longing from Yuuri to see Viktor sing, _this_ up close and personal — instead of being one in fifty thousand people in an arena.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Phichit says, sounding more serious than usual.

“Not at _all_ ,” Yuuri agrees, inching back towards Viktor’s door. Yuuri can’t help but wonder if it would be _insane_ to check on him. He tries to figure out where that action would rank on the sliding scale of concerned acquaintance to obsessive stalker, but before he can come up with any answers, Phichit grabs his arm and starts tugging him in the opposite direction.

“Well,” Phichit says, “let’s go make a fancy lunch and hope he comes up for air.”

***

When Leo woke up, Guang Hong was doing lightning-fast laps in the pool. Leo, of course, wouldn’t go within ten feet of the pool. Plus, he had to go to the rink, and by the time he got back, Guang Hong was once again nowhere to be found. Phichit informed him that Guang Hong had just started his run. That quickly spiraled into a conversation about how much Guang Hong exercises, but by the end, he and Phichit were just talking and laughing and Leo almost forgot about the whole thing. He saw Guang Hong slip by on his way upstairs, but by the time Leo got upstairs, too, the bathroom door was shut and he could hear the shower going.

When Phichit came back with Yuuri in tow, Phichit decided to grace the group with his newfound cooking skills — “I’ve _never_ even _been_ in a kitchen this much in my _life_ ,” he said, grinning, and gave Leo some sort of gourmet panini to take up to Guang Hong. Phichit clearly didn’t care about the no-food-upstairs rule that the producers were quick to enforce. But the harried P.A. was lower on the paygrade and barely looked up from her phone as Leo passed her.

“What are you _doing_?” Leo asks when he gets up to their room, glaring at Guang Hong’s open and overflowing suitcase.

“Packing.”

Leo leans down and sets the plate on the ground next to Guang Hong, who gives it a perfunctory glance before ignoring it. Then he goes back to tossing things from the bottom dresser drawer into the suitcase. Leo hops over it, crashing onto his stomach on Guang Hong’s bed. He tries not to think about the small fact that he _woke up_ in this bed. Alone. He’s still a little fuzzy on how and why exactly that happened.

“Why?” Leo finally asks, referring to the packing. It’s a little nauseating, seeing Guang Hong leaning over his suitcase, folding socks and shoving them in between the rest of the his clothes.

“That’s the rule, before a two-on-one. Sara told me to get on it. A camera was in here about five minutes ago.”

Leo has never heard his voice sound so deadened, and it suddenly occurs to him that the dozens of pep talks and reassurances that he’s given to Guang Hong over the last couple days might not have done _anything_. He might not have been any help at all.

“Sorry,” he says, lamely.

Guang Hong just turns around and takes a bite of the sandwich. “Phichit is getting even more adventurous,” he says, pulling the sandwich apart and examining the contents with a critical look on his face.

“Are you _picky_?” Leo grins.

“Does he ever make anything that has less than two thousand calories in it?” He meets Leo’s eyes again, one side of his mouth curving up as his cheeks turn the faintest pink.

“Pretty sure your four hours of working out this morning means you can eat a sandwich,” Leo laughs. Guang Hong laughs, too, but the moment is quickly over when Guang Hong gets up gracefully from the floor and goes to their shared closet. “I’m, um, sorry that I, like, accidentally got into your bed last night?” Leo adds tentatively.

Guang Hong was in the process of pulling a button-down from a hanger, but he freezes for just a second before completing the motion. He folds it carefully, and Leo watches his every move, his heart beating a little faster as the seconds tick by in awkward silence.

“Um, how did that happen?” Guang Hong asks.

“I have no idea — I don’t remember doing it. I just woke up in, like, a different bed. I think maybe I got up to use the bathroom and kinda… ended up here.”

Guang Hong recedes into the closet for a second and then comes back out, putting three folded shirts onto his suitcase. “It’s not a big deal,” he says, giving Leo a smile that looks a little fake, but Leo wonders if this place is just making him paranoid.

There’s nothing to think about, day in and day out, other than each other. And Otabek. And dates. And romance.

He’s never lived this long without music. The others are complaining about TV and movies and texting, and, sure, he misses all that, too. But the only time he gets to hear music is at the rink, and even then it’s a 20-song playlist the producers deigned to allow him. Sometimes he feels half-crazed without it, and every day he gets closer to asking Viktor to put on a concert. Even though, if he knows _anything_ about Viktor’s music, it’s that he wouldn’t do a half-assed concert.

“Okay,” Leo finally agrees, watching as Guang Hong makes another trip from the closet to his suitcase. “It’d be lonely without you,” he adds a couple minutes later.

Guang Hong goes from zero to flushed completely red in about three seconds. Leo might’ve thought something of it two weeks about, but now he’s used to his permanent blush. It’s pretty cute, if he’s being honest. No _wonder_ Otabek seems to like him.

Leo adds, “So just, like, do whatever you need to — just make sure you fucking beat out Michele.”

Guang Hong smiles, and it looks genuine this time. “Sure,” he agrees.

***

Otabek is silent when Michele and Guang Hong arrive. Emil explained two-on-one rules to him at least a dozen times — Otabek is really starting to think that everyone is really underestimating his intelligence. But it’s also possible that Emil just likes to hear himself talk. Otabek tactfully has never mentioned that he would prefer not to listen to _anyone_ talk.

He can’t help but notice how nervous Guang Hong looks. Michele, as usual, looks completely bored. Guang Hong’s gaze keeps flickering to his, and finally Otabek gives in and gives him a cautious half-smile. Guang Hong turns slightly pink at that, and he returns it with a wide grin.

They walk through a wide, airy hallway, following Emil’s lead. Otabek can’t help but think that this date just seems pointless — it isn’t as though he or the producers or even Guang Hong and Michele don’t know who he’s going to choose. _Everyone_ knows. But this show doesn’t do anything except take the longest road possible to get to the point.

They finally walk into a huge room, and Guang Hong immediately asks, “Is this a dance studio?”

Otabek looks around — as always, he had little to no input in the date itself — and he sees that Guang Hong is right. It’s been a long time since his dance lessons, but he certainly remembers the all-too-familiar wall of mirrors. He’s about to reply when Michele says, “ _Duh_.”

Instead of looking offended, Guang Hong just looks at Otabek with his eyebrows raised a bit as though they’re sharing an inside joke. Otabek almost feels like laughing, but that’s when Emil joins them. The cameras, which had been stationary and waiting for them in this room, fan out. Otabek doesn’t really pay attention; it’s getting easier to ignore them.

“Well,” Emil says as he walks over, “as you’ve probably figured out by now, today is a _great_ day to brush up on your dancing skills.”

Michele rolls his eyes and tosses his head back, staring straight at the ceiling.

A tall, pretty woman brushes in after Emil, who introduces her as Lesley. She’s decked out in even more pink than Guang Hong, who is wearing _very_ bright pink pants with a charcoal-grey button-down — a far cry from Michele’s much more traditional navy suit. Maybe it _is_ a playful outfit for Michele, because he’s not wearing a tie, and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt are unbuttoned.

“Are you three ready to get started?” Lesley asks brightly.

Otabek sighs.

***

Guang Hong isn’t a dancer, but he knows that tripping over his own feet would be less awkward than standing ten feet away with a camera fixed on his face while Michele and Otabek twirl effortlessly around the studio. _Of course_ Connecticut blue-blood Michele would be an expert dancer. Guang Hong is far from it; sure, took a couple dance lessons when he was a kid, but it was pretty low on the priority list for his parents. And from what he’d managed to glean from listening intently to Michele and Otabek’s quiet conversation, Michele and Sara were both in constant dance lessons from the time they could walk.

And it _shows._

Then suddenly Otabek is letting go of Michele and walking over to him. Lesley follows, lingering just a few feet away. They had all endured about a half-hour of lessons, but it seemed more perfunctory than anything else; Guang Hong has a sneaking suspicion that they only bothered to bring out Lesley so she and her dance studio could have publicity.

Otabek holds out his hand for Guang Hong to take. He’s still a bit shell-shocked from standing around for so long, but then he gratefully accepts Otabek’s hand. Just over Otabek’s shoulder, he sees Michele back to looking bored. And staring hard at Emil, who’s off in a corner on his cell phone. Suddenly Michele is _glowering_.

But that’s when Otabek puts a hand on Guang Hong’s waist, and Guang Hong looks up — straight into Otabek’s eyes. He blinks and almost takes a step back, but then he takes a fortifying breath to before he can start to get nervous.

“Everything okay?” Otabek asks.

Once Guang Hong nods, Otabek starts moving. At first, Guang Hong tries to follow the steps he was taught, but after a while he gives in and just follows Otabek’s lead. He’s never done much dancing — especially _ballroom_ dancing — but he understands the basics. Call and response. Action and reaction.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sara shoving Michele back to the center of the dance floor. He starts to glower at them instead of Emil.

The silence is oppressive, and Guang Hong feels even more uncomfortable than before. Maybe it’s because Otabek is _so close_ to him, or maybe it’s because everyone is staring at them so hard. All while they’re just inches apart, supposed to be having a grand, romantic time. But all Guang Hong can think about is how the cameras must be catching every second.

He feels his face flame up a little, but he forces himself to focus back up at Otabek. He wishes he could look down at his feet — not even so much because he isn’t great at dancing, but because of how _awkward_ it is.

But maybe he _should_ have been staring at his feet, because, just then, he steps on Otabek’s foot. “Sorry,” he gasps out. 

Otabek doesn’t look terribly concerned, and he just shrugs. “No problem.”

He’s seen this show enough times to know that all this staring into each other’s eyes should be leading to some sort of sparks flying, or even a kiss. But Otabek seems to be avoiding doing anything more than glancing at him politely, and Guang Hong himself doesn’t think that any of the tricks he’s learned from past _Bachelor_ seasons will work on Otabek.

Then Otabek looks at him — _really_ looks — and something contemplative comes over him. They start going slower, and Lesley claps her hands so that they keep the right time. Guang Hong feels Otabek’s hand tighten on his waist. And for a split second, he feels _exactly_ what he’s supposed to feel — the wind knocked out of him, Otabek’s face inching closer, the rest of the room disappearing.

But as quickly as the feeling came, it’s gone. Otabek breaks their eye contact, and Guang Hong sucks in a grateful breath, not sure what just happened.

“Um,” Guang Hong says, floundering for any subject. “I’m… not so great at dancing.”

Otabek doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle at a little around the edges. “Trust me, I failed ballet classes for years before I finally gave up.”

Guang Hong tilts his head a little at that, glad for the return to normalcy. Relatively. Otabek is still looking at him a bit too softly. “I thought all figure skaters had to take ballet.”

He can feel the shoulder under his hand shrug. “I _tried_. But there’s no one right way for everyone. When I couldn’t go the traditional route, I decided to forge my own path.”

Guang Hong can’t help but smile at that, and Otabek instantly averts his eyes. “Well, you’re a good dancer for _this_ ,” he says, at a loss for anything better to say. “And, for the record, you’re a _really_ good skater — in case that gold medal isn’t saying that enough.”

Otabek gives the faintest half-smile — which is still a warm response, from him — and tries to spin Guang Hong. He only stumbles a little, laughing as he gets pulled back to Otabek. “I wasn’t _ready_ ,” he insists. “Seriously, one more time — maybe I do have it in me, after all—”

Then Michele reaches out and grabs Otabek’s shoulder. 

Guang Hong barely catches a glimpse of Otabek’s shocked expression before the dancing continues on the other side. He understands the game that’s being handed to him, but he can’t decide whether or not to play — he knows he _should_ take the high road, but he also knows this show is nothing _but_ games. And, like Leo said, he’s not going to lose to _Michele_.

So he carefully waits about five minutes, and then he reaches out and taps Michele’s shoulder as they spin past him.

“Can I cut in?” he asks.

***

“Can’t you just _say_ ‘This is the perfect place to fall in love’?” Minako snaps.

He looks around the courtyard. They’re smack in the middle of LA. The building next to them is where the dance studio is — he has no idea what the other buildings are. The courtyard is idyllic; it isn’t terribly comfortable to be surrounded by flowering vines from every angle, but he knows that others probably don’t share a similar viewpoint.

By the time he looks back at Minako, she’s glaring at him. “Are two-on-ones _actually_ for falling in love?” he asks, point-blank. Fischer, the cameraman, ducks back behind the camera as Otabek hears him give a snort of laughter.

“You’re the one who didn’t let your precious _Yuri_ come on the date.”

He frowns; he’s well aware that his decision to fight them off from forcing Yuri onto the two-on-one will cost him dearly later. Her face twists into a smile and she makes a gesture to Fischer that he doesn’t understand. “I was told people who go on two-on-ones don’t end up winning,” he says with forced calm.

“And you’re already so sure Yuri _will?_ ”

“No,” he lies, but he feels his face start to heat up. If he were _smart_ , he’d try to protect Yuri from production’s wrath — but they’re already more than aware of what’s going on. He can’t help but wonder if she, like him, is thinking about that kiss — that _very_ on-camera kiss — after the fashion show. To say that he’s not exactly being subtle with his preferences would be a massive understatement. But his intelligence apparently has a bad tendency to go out the window when Yuri is around.

Her eyebrows raise slowly, and he finds himself wishing that she’s just stayed in her bunker at the mansion rather than coming out into the field for this date.

“This seems like a great place… to make a new connection,” Otabek says stiffly. He doesn’t mimic her words exactly — which is surely the cause of her eye-roll — but she immediately stands and gestures to something behind him, so he supposed it must’ve been good enough.

He glances back as Sara places Michele carefully on an outdoor sofa. Briefly, he makes eye contact with Otabek, but then he stares resolutely in the opposite direction. Fischer is already moving to set up the next shot, the other two cameramen not long behind him. Minako rests her hand on Otabek’s shoulder; he’s been here long enough to know that it isn’t a gesture of comfort but rather one of restraint.

“Don’t eliminate him outside of the rose ceremony,” she hisses in his ear.

“Can you _do_ that?”

She stares at him for a second and then bursts out laughing. Her hand on his shoulder grabs him and yanks him up. “You really walked straight into this war without any armor _or_ ammo, didn’t you?” she asks, still chortling. 

He’s finally beginning to realize she’s right.

But before he can dwell on it, he’s placed right next to Michele. Just as quickly as it started, the whirlwind dies down. Everyone goes silent, and even Michele just picks at the bottom of his jacket. Otabek frantically tries to think of a way to start the conversation, wondering why Minako didn’t think that was important wisdom to impart during that torturously long interview — which was probably only about a half-hour, but this show makes time move in a strange way.

But before he can do more than wrack his brain for twenty seconds, Michele asks, “What are you looking for, anyway?”

“In a boyfriend?” Otabek asks, confused.

“In a _husband_ ,” Michele corrects with a sigh. Otabek almost gives a chuckle at his tone; it’s more apparent than ever that Sara is his sister and that this show has probably embedded itself in his DNA.

_I’ve never really thought about it_ , Otabek almost says, but he knows that the second those words are out of his mouth, Minako will drag him bodily away for another round of that psychological torture this show steadfastly refers to as an interview. So instead he takes a deep breath and gives what he feels is a somewhat trained response, “I don’t particularly have a type.”

“But what do you _want_?”

That’s when it finally occurs to him that Michele must know that he’s going to be eliminated. “Someone I’m comfortable with, I guess,” Otabek finally responds, sounding lame even to himself. “Someone I want to talk to — and just _be_ with.”

“You’ve never been in love before.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Otabek looks at him curiously. Michele’s eyes are looking straight past him, over his shoulder. Once Otabek stares long enough, Michele’s strange, purple eyes meet his again.

“No.”

Michele’s lips twist into a half-smile. “And you think that even if you find that, it’ll be reciprocated?”

“Stranger things have happened.” It’s the vaguest attempt at a joke, because Michele doesn’t seem to find anything funny.

“I’m a lot older than you.”

“Not really—”

“I’m almost thirty-three, and nothing has worked out so far.” It’s a fairly innocuous statement — _I think you’re describing ‘being single’_ , Otabek might say, under any other circumstance. But Michele says it with pure vitriol as though he’s dropping a bomb; the attack isn’t even directed towards him, but Otabek can feel the sting of it just from the shrapnel.

Michele’s gaze slides to just over Otabek’s shoulder again, and realization finally settles over Otabek.

_Oh_.

He takes a quick glance over his shoulder, and — sure enough — there’s Emil, sitting next to Minako as she whispers something in his ear. By the time Otabek looks back, Michele’s glare has only increased in intensity.

“But have you really _tried_?” Otabek asks quietly.

Michele’s eyes jerk back to Otabek as he flinches back on the sofa. “You have no _idea_ what you’re talking about.”

“Okay.” He says it softly and agreeably, trying to alleviate the tension; Michele looks like he’s a livewire.

But it doesn’t seem to have helped. He turns red in the face and gets up. His hands are balled into fists and he snaps. “I don’t really see _you_ trying either. You’re so blinded by Yuri Plisetsky’s _face_ that you haven’t bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention to anyone else. But, sure, eliminate _me_ and walk off into the sunset with Guang Hong — and then ignore him tomorrow. _Whatever_.”

He stomps back into the building. The courtyard is completely silent — even the birds have somehow become completely still. Otabek looks at Sara, who’s smiling for reasons he doesn’t understand.   

***

At first, they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes; when Otabek came in from his conversation with Michele, he looked a little unnerved. Guang Hong, of course, was burning with curiosity, but he knew it wasn’t his place to ask.

He was sitting with his back against the arm of the couch, and Sara came over and hissed in his ear that he should drape his legs over Otabek’s. It was the kind of thing he wouldn’t hesitate to do with Leo, but the thought of being that casual with Otabek made him instantly blush. But he tentatively followed her orders, encouraged when Otabek didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Otabek just rested an arm over his legs and sighed.

Then the conversation started. Guang Hong would describe it as ‘stilted’ if he were feeling charitable — ‘horribly awkward’ if he were being honest. He asked about Kazakhstan and got a short answer; Otabek asked about Seattle and didn’t get much longer of a response. Then hobbies, then family. But every conversation starter immediately came to a screeching halt.

It isn’t helping that Guang Hong is completely exhausted — between the lack of sleep, working out too much, the dancing, and just the _stress_ of this date, he’s been ready for a nap for hours now. He leans to the side until his head is resting on the back of the couch. Otabek gives him a half-smile.

“You know,” Otabek says quietly, looking down at his hands, “I don’t want you to think that I’m not _interested_.”

Guang Hong freezes, instantly flushing. Then he sits up straighter, moving his legs from Otabek’s lap so he can cross them. He leans forward, giving the briefest glance at Sara, who _has_ looked bored out of her mind, but now her eyes are wide and focused.

“I mean — since you weren’t on the group date last week, and now you’re on a two-on-one, which is apparently… bad?” He looks up at Guang Hong as if for confirmation, but he quickly continues, “Things just sort of… happened that way. I definitely want to figure out what _this_ is.” He gestures between them vaguely, his cheeks the faintest pink.

Guang Hong can’t help but grin. “Thanks,” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss Otabek’s cheek softly.

He looks at Sara again, who’s off in the corner whispering to Minako with identical grins on their faces. The cameras are still focused on him and Otabek. And he’s seen more than enough of the show to envision how this moment is going to look on TV — like a fairytale, a redemption of the entire concept of two-on-one dates that will have every _Bachelor_ recap writer questioning whether or not they can _actually_ immediately rule him out as final three.

And then it hits him like a freight train — Otabek’s assurance, slight blush, sincerity. His throat goes dry.

Because _he’s_ not sure.

Not sure if he even wants Otabek at all.

***

The three of them are back in the courtyard, gathered around a small, round glass table with a red rose sitting in the center. They wait as the cameras move around them, presumably getting endless glamor shots of the rose. They’ve come to expect it by now, and they just sit in silence before the cameras move a comfortable distance away from them.

Otabek makes eye contact with Minako, who nods at him. Emil is at her side, like usual, while Sara is nowhere to be found. Then Otabek sighs and looks at the two men across from him. Neither of them look particularly concerned — he wonders if he’ll be blamed for that later. Michele’s eyebrows are drawn in anger already, while Guang Hong still looks about five minutes from falling asleep. He vaguely wonders if this will go down in show history as the most boring two-on-one — but he’s glad they’re finally nearing the end.

“I’ve had an… interesting day,” he says. Guang Hong perks up a little, and Michele rolls his eyes. “It’s been great getting to know you better — and learning how to dance properly. Apparently.” He gives a wry smile to Michele, who doesn’t return it. He continues immediately, not bothering for the dramatic speech he was instructed to give. “All that being said, unfortunately only one of you can continue on this date with me. So… Guang Hong, will you accept this rose?”

Guang Hong gives him a slow grin and says, “Of course.” Otabek reaches out to pin the rose on Guang Hong’s shirt, relieved the difficult part of the date is over. “Thanks,” Guang Hong whispers. Otabek starts to smile, knowing he made the right choice, but it’s interrupted by the screeching of a metal chair against the stone patio.

Otabek looks up, with Michele looming above him. He’s disconcerted for a moment, but then he stands, too. “Good luck with everything, Michele,” he says sincerely, reaching out his hand to shake. Michele takes it after a couple awkward seconds, squeezing a little too hard and dropping the hand a little too quickly.

Then Otabek is grabbing Guang Hong’s hand (as instructed) and leading him out the side gate (also as instructed). As soon as they’re out the gate, there’s a limo waiting for them, and Otabek politely opens the door for Guang Hong. He tries to look back at the courtyard, but the area is so covered in greenery that he can’t even catch a glimpse.

He shrugs, unable to help but be glad that he’s made it through that portion of the date, and then joins Guang Hong in the limo.

***

Emil likes to think of himself as the ultimate enigma to Minako. He started out in sports broadcasting, fresh out of college nearly fifteen years ago, which he enjoyed. He was successful at it the way he was successful at everything else he had ever tried — _very_. And like most things, he liked it but didn’t love it. He bounced around the country, always moving to bigger cities, for jobs with bigger viewership and better pay.

When the job at hosting _The_ _Bachelor_ (and related shows) came up three years ago, he applied without hesitation. He’s never regretted it, not doing anything more than laughing when others expressed confusion or condescension at his career move.

Because to his pleasant surprise, he’s loved every day of his job. He moved to LA two years before he got this job, and his urges to move again stopped the second the job started. He finds himself longing to be back in Montana occasionally, but he spends a week there two or three times a year, which is enough to keep him happy.

Minako likes to joke that he must have some sort of undiagnosed mental disorder — according to _her_ , no one should earnestly enjoy hosting the show this much. But he _does_. He loves interacting with the contestants just enough to get the inside scoop, but not enough to get the sick sense of guilt that seems to occasionally plague Mila and Sara. As Minako has implied several times, maybe he’s being saved by the fact that he doesn’t think too deeply about the whole situation.

To him, getting to travel the world, interact with different kinds of people, and occasionally give impassioned speeches is a _dream job_. Sometimes he wonders why he gets paid so much, but he never says that out loud.

Which is why this season of the show is something of an outlier. He’s never felt any negative emotions while filming the show — well, sure, he feels bad when someone starts crying or screaming. But he’s never _personally_ felt guilt or sadness.

Until he found out that Mickey was going to be on this two-on-one.

He’s had nearly a week to get used to the idea, and he thought he was mentally prepared until he _got here_. Like everyone else in production, he had no misconceptions about Mickey’s likelihood of surviving the date — the odds were _less_ than zero, if that were possible. But _seeing_ it proved to be more difficult than Emil had anticipated.

Emil can’t help but watch Mickey’s face carefully as Otabek gives the rose to Guang Hong. “Duh,” Minako whispers under her breath. But Emil keeps his eyes fixed on Mickey, trying to see any minute change in his facial expression, but he’s just as stone-faced as always. Then he stands up abruptly, and Emil watches as he and Otabek shake hands.

“That was as anticlimactic as I expected,” Minako murmurs, this time leaning over so she can whisper directly in Emil’s ear. “Just _think_ if he’d let us force Yuri Plisetsky on this date — this whole _building_ would’ve gone up in flames.”

Emil rolls his eyes and looks at her. She’s got that glint in her eyes that says she’s probably planning something horrible for next episode — business as usual, for her.

“Have you not figured out that he’s going to win?” he whispers back to her.

She rolls her eyes before giving him a smirk. “The course of true love never did run smooth.”

He barely bites back laughter because the cameras are still rolling, unable to stop being friends with her even if she’s often unabashedly _horrible_. “Not if _you_ have anything to say about it, anyway.”

By the time he looks back up, Otabek and Guang Hong are exiting out the side gate, heading to a limo where Sara and Fischer are waiting. Minako is somehow already halfway across the courtyard by the time Emil even realizes she’s left his side. He vacillates, not particularly wanting to feel even worse by sitting around for Mickey’s interview, but he also knows it’s too late to hide in the front seat of the limo. Plus he knows he should be around to talk to Mickey _after_ the interview — they _are_ close friends, after all. Things have felt a little off between them since Mickey came on the show, but Emil knows that everything will go back to normal soon.

He makes eye contact with Mickey, who immediately glares at him. He feels that guilt all over again, even though he knows rationally that there was no way to save Mickey from this; he warned him to not come on the show, but Mickey isn’t the type to listen to advice. Emil doesn’t really mind that characteristic, though — he kind of admires it sometimes, that Mickey is willing to dive in headfirst and fuck up if he needs to.

Then Mickey walks straight past Minako, towards Emil. He tries to think of the right thing to say — he talks _for a living_ , but that’s just about the show, the contestants, the _bachelor_. It’s impersonal.

And this is nothing but personal.

“ _Michele_ ,” Minako calls, sounding like she’s scolding a petulant child (she uses that tone on Emil a lot).

Mickey doesn’t hesitate in the slightest, instead continuing to walk straight to Emil. Finally, Mickey stops just in front of him. He doesn’t look pissed off from this close — instead, his violet eyes are wide and anxious.

“Look, Mickey—” Emil starts, but he’s broken off abruptly, because Mickey grabs Emil’s lapels and yanks him forward. Once he’s close enough, Mickey stands on his toes.

And kisses him.

The breath goes out of Emil. _Everything_ flies straight out of Emil; his heart seems to stop beating and his brain completely shuts off. All he can feel is lips hard on his. _Mickey’s_ lips on his. Hard and firm and not hesitant in the slightest.

Just when Emil’s — very slow — brain realizes that Mickey must’ve been wanting to do this for ages, Mickey pulls away. He slowly loosens his hold on Emil’s jacket, but Emil is practically hypnotized by those eyes — earnest and scared and honest and _beautiful_.

“Well,” Mickey says bluntly, “I guess now you know.”

_Know what?_ Emil almost says, but then Mickey is turning around to walk back to Minako. He barely managed to catch a glimpse of Mickey’s face turning red before he’s just staring a hole in this back of his head.

He manages a shaky breath, finally meeting Minako’s intense stare. Suddenly she’s grinning at him, and then she wraps an arm up around Mickey’s shoulders, tugging him into the building. That wasn’t the _plan_ for the location of the interview, and Minako almost _never_ deviates from the plan, which is probably _part_ of the reason that it takes the crew a few extra seconds to trot after her. It doesn’t help that almost everyone pauses to give a few confused and startled looks back at Emil.

Suddenly he’s alone in the courtyard, but he still finds himself looking around frantically. _Did that just_ happen _?_ he wants to ask. But he can still feel the burn of Mickey’s lips against his, and he knows he didn’t imagine any of it.

It’s only the buzzing of his phone that distracts him from continuing that train of thought.

[From: Minako, 20:12]  
_Take the rest of the night off_

He sighs, needing to read the message several times before he can finally comprehend what it’s saying. It isn’t until he hears a car honking from the alley outside the gate that he understands that Minako isn’t offering him the night off, but _ordering_ it. He pockets his phone again and starts ambling in the right direction.

_I guess now you know_ , Mickey had said.

Every one of the million times that Mickey has sent a furious glare his way, every time that Mickey has broken away from everyone else to talk and laugh with him, every time he caught Mickey staring. Even before this season — all those dozens of times that Mickey would show up on set, unprompted, with a treat or coffee for him.

That wide smile that he’s never given to anyone else.

Maybe he really has been a shitty friend, not even noticing.

He sighs.

And now he does know.

That Mickey is in love with him.

***

Leo sighs. He rests his chin on the back of the couch as he stares at the two suitcases carefully placed a few feet away. One is boring, beige, and looks like it costs more than Leo’s first car (a bright yellow Pontiac Sunfire that he insisting on driving until it _died —_ and even then he hadn’t wanted to let her go). The other is a deep purple with a hot pink luggage tag.

He asked Guang Hong why he didn’t have to bring both his suitcases down — because up in their shared room is another purple suitcase, identical except in size. Guang Hong just gave him a wry smile and just said _drama_ with a strange wave of his hand.

It’s been _hours_.

Even though Leo knows rationally that they’ll all be corralled into this room for maximum effect when a suitcase is actually taken away, he still doesn’t exactly feel comfortable leaving here. He just doesn’t want to miss anything, especially when there’s the small fact that he might never see Guang Hong ever again. Sure, Leo grew up in Seattle and his mother still lives there, but _still_. He knows you can’t really just pop in on someone you’ve known for less than two weeks, especially when that someone lives in a _completely_ different area of the city. Not to mention the fact that Leo might be an _engaged_ _man_ by then.

That thought _really_ doesn’t help his nerves.

“Are you just, like, sitting in here, sighing?” Yuri asks, abruptly.

Leo flinches, not having realized Yuri was anywhere near him. Pretty much everyone spent the afternoon in the pool, but the last time Leo had walked by, most of them were out by the bar. When Leo stopped out there Phichit was practicing his amateur bartending skills, lamenting whatever kinds of liquor he loved in _Mongolia_ or whatever. Leo didn’t stay out there long; his dislike for both water _and_ drinking was far outweighing his desire for company.

But he should’ve known that Yuri wouldn’t be with the rest of them.

“ _Well_?” he snaps.

“Oh,” Leo says, remembering the question a minute too late. “Um, yeah, kind of. Well, I mean, yeah. I guess.”

To his shock, Yuri plops down on the chair next to him, curling up so he can lay his head on the arm. Leo can’t help but look at him — Yuri has been AWOL most of the time they aren’t on camera. Whether he’s eating on a completely different schedule or just not eating at _all_ , Leo isn’t sure, but he just knows that he barely catches glimpses of Yuri as he goes between his room, the kitchen, and outside.

It isn’t a quality that Leo finds _admirable_ , to say the least. But he isn’t confrontational like Phichit or nice like Guang Hong, so he’s barely exchanged more than a couple words with Yuri.

_Why are you here?_ he wants to ask, and it hovers on the tip of his tongue. Before he can work up the nerve (or a more polite way to phrase it), Phichit comes barreling in, crashing onto the couch next to Leo. Not more than a few seconds later, everyone else funnels in, until Leo, Phichit, Chris, and Yuuri are crammed onto the couch. Seung-gil is sitting on the floor with his elbows propped up onto the table, looking as bored as always, and JJ is stretched out on the chair opposite Yuri.

Leo is too busy being annoyed that his vantage point to the suitcases has been cut off — in the eleventh hour, when it really matters — that he barely hears when Phichit asks, “Where’s _Viktor_?”

Leo can hear some noncommittal noises, but he manages to turn himself around, just enough to be able to keep a careful eye on the suitcases. His back is being bent out of shape by the arm of the couch, but he tries to ignore it.

“Did they call you guys in here?” he whispers to Phichit, realizing that must be the reason for Yuri’s strange presence.

“Yeah—” Phichit answers, but then the cameras descend upon the room.

Mila isn’t far behind, and she pauses in the doorway before she commands, “Talk about something.”

Yuri grumbles and buries his face in the arm of the chair. Leo barely looks away from the suitcases, giving an unintentional glare at Mila because she’s prolonging his anxiety. But Chris gamely says, “So Michele is _definitely_ going home, right?”

“I dunno,” JJ says, still not looking away from the ceiling. “I mean, _probably_ , but Guang Hong is kinda boring, right? Maybe Otabek will finally realize it.”

Leo nearly launches off the couch, but he’s obstructed by the small fact that his crossed legs are barricaded against Phichit’s thigh. Phichit gives Leo a warning look before responding to JJ coolly, “Guang Hong isn’t _boring_ , he’s just _nice_.”

“Well, I don’t know if Otabek really _goes_ for _nice_.” Leo doesn’t miss the glance JJ gives Yuri, who opens his eyes just to give JJ a withering stare.

“How the fuck would you know what Otabek goes for?” Yuri responds, voice acidic. “He wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Know a lot about poles, do you?”

Yuri just gives a light chuckle. “Is that what passes for an insult in Canada?”

“Um?” Leo interrupts, nerves already frayed without JJ and Yuri sniping at each other. “Can we, like, _not_?”

Luckily, someone on the production staff finally takes mercy on him. The camera tracks a male P.A. as he walks in. There’s a brief, dramatic pause, and then he grabs the beige suitcase. He slowly drags it back out of the room, and Leo feels himself exhaling. He stares at Guang Hong’s safe suitcase with a grin on his face.

When he finally looks back at the others, no one looks particularly surprised. Phichit gives him a friendly smile, which he gratefully returns.

_Thank God_ , he thinks, carefully extricating himself from the couch now that he no longer has to vigilantly keep watch.

***

If Yuuri thought that his behavior this morning might have deserved to be compared to stalker, he _knows_ his current behavior is definitely over the edge. But he hasn’t seen Viktor the entire day — even when Mila forced everyone together to see which suitcase was taken away. If he was concerned about Viktor not eating breakfast, at almost 9pm, that concern is on a whole new level.

He’s standing in front of Viktor’s door, hand raised to knock. His insides are so jumbled up in anxiety he’s surprised he’s still functioning. Ideas for things to say run through his head, but nothing sounds right. But he doesn’t want to risk someone else coming up the stairs and seeing him, so he forces himself to knock a single time.

When there’s no response after three seconds, he decides to flee. But before he can do more than turn around, the door opens.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri turns back with a self-conscious forced smile. Viktor tilts his head at him, eyebrows raising. He leans on the edge of the doorframe. He’s wearing a grey hoodie and black sweatpants, hair unkempt, a pencil behind his ear. Yuuri has never seen him like this — in his natural state, completely unprepared. He briefly feels guilty for forcing his presence, but then Viktor is asking, “Yes?” He doesn’t look particularly pissed off at all, which is a welcome sign.

“Um,” Yuuri says, floundering even in the face of no hostility at all, “um… I just wanted to make sure you were… okay?”

For some reason, Viktor’s cheeks turn pink at that. “I’m fine,” he says, maybe a little too quickly. And then he steps back from the door. For a moment, Yuuri thinks that the door is going to be shut on him, but instead Viktor gestures him in. After a second, Yuuri remembers how to move his legs, and then he eagerly walks into Viktor’s room.

Viktor’s room is the biggest that Yuuri has seen here. It still isn’t _huge_ , by any means, but there’s one full-sized bed instead of the two tiny twin beds in all the other rooms. The bed frame and dresser look a little more upscale than what Yuuri has. There’s a keyboard in the corner with hand-scribbled music on it, and a familiar-looking guitar lying on the bed. Yuuri has a strange feeling that the room _was_ meticulously clean this morning, but now there’s sheets of paper scattered everywhere and a few plates of mostly-eaten food on the ground. Yuuri gives them an extra glance, just relieved that _someone_ has been bringing Viktor food. _Of course_ he wouldn’t need to come down to the kitchen to cook _or_ eat — Yuuri feels silly now, just thinking about it.

Viktor sits down at his keyboard, but he spins halfway around in the seat so he’s still facing Yuuri.

“Um,” Yuuri says, “I’m sorry for interrupting and everything.” He’s dying to ask if Viktor is working on his next album, but he holds himself back. He knows he shouldn’t still be so nervous around Viktor after two weeks, but he’s been a fan of Viktor for _years_ , it’s hard to remember how to breathe when his face is _right there_ — perfect and _in-person_.

“No, it’s probably a good thing,” he says, shrugging and leaning back on his seat. “Selena always says I _hide_ too much.”

Yuuri wonders what strange, magical thing happened to him that allowed him to have a private conversation with  _Viktor_ where he name-drops _Selena Gomez_. “I did hear something earlier,” Yuuri says, trying to play it cool. “Like, I heard you _playing_ something — something that didn’t sound very… happy.”

Viktor snorts. “Not really lead-off single material?”

His tone sounds playful, but Yuuri thinks there’s an edge to it. He meanders farther into the room, and Viktor lazily gestures towards his bed. Carefully, Yuuri sits down at the edge, giving a quick glance at the guitar to make sure he doesn’t jostle it.

“Maybe you _do_ hide too much,” Yuuri says in a flash of boldness that flickers away when Viktor looks at him coldly.

But when he speaks again, his voice is agreeable. “Maybe.”

“Can I ask — _why_?”

“Why _today?”_

Yuuri shakes his head. “Outside — before the show. You were holed up in Rhode Island, weren’t you?”

“Well, they let residents fence in our beaches a couple years ago, so I’m still riding high from that.” He gives a hollow-looking smile.

Yuuri ignores his sarcasm. “You said that you wanted to let the media take a break from _you_.”

“I did?” He sounds a little sharp now, and he leans forward on the bench. “I don’t remember saying that to you.”

“In an interview,” Yuuri says, flushing.

“You have the real me right here, you know.” If he was angry before, he doesn’t seem to be now; Yuuri is getting a bit dizzy, just trying to keep up with him.

“Why were you in here all day?”

“New music.” He gestures around. “I’m not sure how much everyone is going to like the _new_ Viktor.”

Once again, he has to stop himself from asking about his new music — he’s so used to being just a _fan_ , but he’s spent a decent amount of time around Viktor. He thinks of Viktor as more than just _the_ Viktor. “You’ve reinvented yourself before,” Yuuri says gently.

“Not like this.” He sighs and keeps his blue eyes on Yuuri, but his left hand reaches over to casually pluck out a melody on the keys. Yuuri watches in fascination as Viktor’s eyebrows raise and he turns back to the keyboard, plucking out a rough, dark melody. He grabs around for his pencil, left hand still on the keys. Just when he starts to look a little frantic, Yuuri says, “Behind your ear.”

He gives a little chuckle, but he doesn’t say anything as he scribbles onto the sheet of paper. Then he hits keys on the keyboard again and the whole process repeats a few times. Yuuri sighs — fascinated with his musical process but all-to-aware that there are still many things unsaid — and looks around the room again, wondering how long it’ll be until Viktor comes out of his trance.

He eyes the scattered sheets of paper littering the floor, gaze landing quickly on one still on the bed with a big star and today’s date next to it. After giving a furtive glance at Viktor’s back, he twists his body so he can read the lyrics written on it. 

_Didn’t know he was a killer, first time that I saw him  
Wonder now how many guys he loved and left haunted_

There are a couple lines unreadable because they’ve been scratched out so hard, then, still part of the same set of lyrics:

  
_Some boys are trying too hard_  
 _He don't try at all, though_  
 _Younger than my exes but he act like such a man, so_  
 _I see nothing better, I keep him forever_

Everything seems to go perfectly still, and a ringing starts in his ears that drowns out Viktor’s keyboard playing. He reads it again and again, and then spots another set of lyrics with “pre-chorus?” written and underlined just above it.

_I see how this is gonna go_   
_Touch me and you'll never be alone_   
_L.A. heat and lights down low_   
_No one has to know_

His eyes trace over “L.A. heat” again and again, trying to keep his breathing as normal as possible. He doesn’t _want_ to think it, but the thought is there, just below the surface, and eventually it breaks through:

_Is this about me?_

_No_ , he answers himself immediately. Firmly. He’s _Viktor_. _The_ Viktor. Ten-time Grammy winner _Viktor_. Viktor Nikiforov, who seems to be here solely to take a few-week mental health vacation. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s one of the most talented, rich, and beautiful people in the world.

Yuuri’s plane of existence and Viktor’s plane of existence are only intersecting because of the most insane, unbelievable series of coincidences.

So, no, Viktor is _not_ writing a song about it. It’s the height of arrogance and _insanity_ to even consider it.

He wrenches his gaze away from the paper, looking up just as Viktor turns around, a small, proud smile on his face as he drums his pencil against the keyboard.

“Do you like Otabek?” Yuuri blurts out. He doesn’t even consider it, and his face turns red the second the words are out of his mouth. _Maybe this is about Otabek_ , he thinks. _Or an ex._ He tries to think of who Viktor has dated lately. There’s Jonathan Groff, but he’s _older_ than Viktor. There’s Sam Smith — it _could_ be Sam Smith, he tells himself… except for the fact that the entirety of their relationship (according to the tabloids and paparazzi shots) happened in either London, Rhode Island, or New York City.

“Otabek is a good man,” Viktor answers slowly, tilting his head, and it takes Yuuri a second to remember the question. “Certainly anyone would be lucky to date him. But, for me — no, I don’t really think he’s for me.”

“Oh.” It’s the only thing that he can think to say.

“Sorry, Yuuri — I really have to work on this.” He gestures at his keyboard. “I appreciate you checking on me, though.” He sounds sincere, giving Yuuri a warm half-smile.

Yuuri jumps to his feet and nods back at him. “No problem,” he says stiffly, and then bolts out of the room.

***

Guang Hong nearly sprints into the house, pausing for a second in the living room, only to immediately see that just Phichit and Seung-gil are there, locked in a game of chess. Phichit looks up and grins automatically upon seeing him; Guang Hong can’t help but grin right back.

“I’m pretty sure he’s outside,” Phichit says, unprompted but with a smirk on his face.

“Thanks,” Guang Hong replies before flying out of the room, throwing open the doors to the back patio. He expects, like always, to hear loud chatter or a cluster of people doing shots or someone canon-balling into the pool. But instead it’s completely silent, and he looks over to the many lawn chairs — and one in particular that’s been dragged near a light.

Leo is looking up at him, a grin slowly spreading over his face. Guang Hong can’t help but feel warmth bubbling in his chest unlike anything he’s felt all day. A small, rational part of his brain tells him that that’s a _bad_ thing, but he ignores it and walks the rest of the way to Leo, unceremoniously sitting down at the end of his chair. Leo playfully pushes his toes into Guang Hong’s side.

“What are you reading?” Guang Hong asks, trying to get a glimpse of the cover.

“That book you got — _Girl on a Train_ or whatever it’s called.”

He closes the book and Guang Hong looks up at Leo’s face. He’s immediately stunned back into silence — Leo is wearing _glasses_. Navy plastic-framed glasses that he takes off as though it’s the most normal thing in the world instead of the complete and utter _shock_ it is to Guang Hong.

“What did you, um—” But Guang Hong breaks off almost immediately, unable to think of the rest of his sentence. “You wear _glasses_?” he finally manages.

Leo smiles again. “Just for reading.” He slips them into a case and then puts it and the book on a nearby table.

“Oh.” He barely resists the urge to ask to see him in the glasses again, but then Leo is grinning a huge grin and it’s all he can do to not fall off the chair.

Then suddenly Leo is lurching forward and wrapping him into a hug.

“I’m _so_ glad you’re back.” He lets go quickly and asks with the same manic-puppy energy, “How was the date? What did you do? Were you _scared_?”

Guang Hong tells him everything. Even though it’s not terribly exciting, Leo looks riveted (Guang Hong has a sneaking suspicion that Leo has been _very_ bored). He tells him about the dancing, the awkward conversations, the rose ceremony, the intimate dinner afterwards. He carefully leaves out any information about the kiss on the cheek, and especially Otabek assuring him that he’s still _interested_.

“Wait,” Leo says at the end, “so you, like, know how to dance now? Like, fancy _ballroom_ dancing?”

Guang Hong laughs. “I mean, yeah — not _great_ or anything, like _Michele_ , but—”

Leo hops off the chair and extends his hand out. “Dance with me.”

His face flames up instantly, unable to stop himself from really taking Leo in. He’s dressed in a pair of golden-yellow shorts and a teal v-neck, and — like everything else — it looks perfect on him. Guang Hong finds himself reaching for Leo’s hand without even consciously making the decision. His throat goes dry the second their skin connects, and he can’t even bring himself to join in Leo’s playful laughter when Leo tugs him up.

Leo places his right hand on Guang Hong’s shoulder and keeps his left hand hanging onto Guang Hong’s right one. Guang Hong can’t help but hesitate for a second, which makes Leo ask, “Am I doing this wrong?”

“Not unless you wanted to lead,” Guang Hong says as steadily as possible, putting his hand on Leo’s waist gently.

“I think I’d prefer it this way.” Leo’s voice is quieter now that they’re so close.

Guang Hong keeps his eyes averted as he waits for his blush to die down, pretending instead to examine their feet. Leo isn’t wearing any shoes, so Guang Hong quickly slips off the flip-flops he’d changed into after his fancy dinner. With a deep breath, he looks back up at Leo, who’s examining him carefully. _Too_ carefully.

Guang Hong blushes all over again, but he just says, “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Then they’re off. There’s no music, but immediately Leo starts humming a song Guang Hong doesn’t recognize. He tries to ignore the pressure on his shoulder, the hand holding his, and the way Leo’s warm brown eyes are boring into his every time he can get the strength up to make eye contact.

But he finds himself moving to Leo’s soft music in a way he hadn’t with Otabek. He had thought that he and Otabek danced well together, but everything there had taken careful thought and consideration. Nothing could be further from the truth now. He and Leo are perfectly in sync; they float around the patio effortlessly.

Nothing with Otabek is effortless. Even at their intimate dinner after the dancing — with the rose pinned on his chest and all the pressure over — Guang Hong still found himself trying too hard to think of what to say next. What to _do_ next. At first he thought it was just a product of studying and analyzing this show too much over the last few years, but now he’s fairly sure that isn’t it.

He looks up at Leo, and Leo gives him a quick smile. Guang Hong feels himself grinning back, all thoughts of Otabek floating out of his brain. Something in the back of his mind is still screaming that this is a bad idea, but he ignores it.

He slows down and Leo follows suit. “How do you Americans do it?” he asks, only half joking, wrapping his arms loosely around Leo’s neck, already giving up leading when Leo is clearly the better dancer. Leo laughs but amiably puts his hands on Guang Hong’s waist.

“Well, I never exactly _went_ to a high school dance,” Leo admits, but he pulls Guang Hong into the much slower, more ambling dance. There’s no improvised music from Leo this time, but they’re moving too slow for it to make too much difference.

“Neither did I,” Guang Hong responds absent-mindedly, a little too distracted to be able to keep up with a conversation, too.

This seemed like a good idea five seconds ago, but Guang Hong instantly regrets it. He’s even _closer_ to Leo now. Leo is barely a couple inches taller than him — so they’re eye-to-eye, and Leo’s grip on his waist isn’t nearly as loose as Guang Hong’s.

Guang Hong has the sudden urge to lean his head onto Leo’s shoulder like he’s seen in the hundreds of movies he’s watched with Delun — those high school movies that always manage to culminate in some all-important prom. (Delun loves teen movies _almost_ as much as he loves reality television.)

Then another urge — just a flash, but it’s there — and he _wants_ to kiss Leo.

It would be so _easy_ — he’s _right there_. But he feels guilty as soon as he even thinks it, and he finds himself breaking their easy, companionable rhythm for the first time. He lets go and takes a step back so abruptly that he feels Leo’s hands forcibly yanked off of him.

And he wishes he could feel them again.

He can’t help but remember, just a few hours ago before the rose ceremony, Otabek warm and open and earnest like Guang Hong has never seen him before — telling him that he’s _interested_. And Guang Hong didn’t feel really _happiness_ so much as the thrill of getting closer to winning a prize; he’s always been competitive, after all.

It was nothing like _this_.

“What?” Leo asks, looking vaguely confused. “I _am_ a pretty good dancer, right? Really wore you out.” He’s already back to his usual grin, and Guang Hong feels himself smiling in response.

“I guess I’m just tired,” he lies. “From the whole day, and everything.”

“Plus you still have to _un_ pack.” Leo sounds absolutely giddy with joy. He starts walking in the opposite direction, and for a second Guang Hong thinks that he’s finally going to be left alone with his own thoughts. But then Leo turns back around, tilting his head to the side. “Aren’t you coming?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

Because he can’t help it. As soon as he realizes it, he knows that he’s already a lost cause. Maybe he’s _been_ a lost cause and just hasn’t realized it. He catches up with Leo, who slings a casual arm around his shoulder. Guang Hong feels the warmth burning on his skin everywhere he can feel Leo.

Delun gave him a _lot_ of advice before he came on the show, but one thing that never would’ve occurred to either of them is that Guang Hong might fall for a fellow contestant.

But Guang Hong looks up at Leo with a grin on his face and suffocating tightness in his chest.

And he knows he’s already too far gone.

* * *

**Saturday**

Guang Hong watches from the corner of his eye as Leo picks up his drink and sniffs it. He quickly wrinkles his nose and sets it back down next to the hot tub, face tinging pink when he notices that Guang Hong has caught him.

“My worst breakup is _definitely_ worse than yours,” Phichit is insisting. “She _bought a ticket_ so she could search the _airport_ for me.”

“That’s the plot of every rom-com,” Guang Hong chimes in. Phichit waves a hand impatiently at him and then looks back at Chris. Guang Hong leans back in the hot tub as Phichit goes into greater detail, and Guang Hong has to admit that it does sound like vaguely stalker-ish behavior. He looks up at Leo, who’s sitting on the edge of the hot tub, so he’s submerged only to his calves. Even so, he glares down at the water occasionally. He’d agreed more readily than Guang Hong would’ve anticipated, but he thinks it probably has something to do with the fact that Mila told them last night that they were to pack up for their first day of travel tomorrow.

The house has been a den of manic energy since then. Phichit had proclaimed that he couldn’t wait to breathe new air, and everyone had laughed except Yuri, who was — as always — nowhere to be found.

Once everyone was all packed by late this afternoon, the energy drained. Suddenly Guang Hong and Chris were fielding questions from everyone about whether or not they’d be coming back to the mansion. _Probably not_ , they both answered time and time again, and suddenly everyone was feeling nostalgic.

Well, not _everyone_. Mostly Chris and Phichit and Leo, it seemed (though Phichit couldn’t stop talking for hours about how excited he is to finally travel, to which Guang Hong is finally beginning to understand that a full two weeks is longer than Phichit usually spends in one place). Guang Hong, for his part, just hopes they go somewhere a little cooler, though — knowing the show’s penchant for the tropical, as he warned Leo about — it’s unlikely. 

But that was how the four of them ended up in the hot tub. Of course, Leo has inched closer and closer to Guang Hong, so now his legs are bumped up against his shoulder. At first, it made Guang Hong’s heart race, but they’ve been sitting like this for a good twenty minutes, and he’s calmed down a bit.

“Okay, Phichit,” Chris agrees with a grin. “I’ll admit that’s pretty good. _But_ , let me tell you — this one time, I walked in on my boyfriend _having sex with another man_. I just stood there, shell-shocked for a minute, and then I broke up with him. It was quite—”

“ _He_ was cheating on _you_?” Phichit asks, a grin tugging at his expression. He and Chris stare at each other intently for a moment — while Guang Hong and Leo throw a confused glance at each other — and then Chris bursts into laughter.

“Okay, darling,” he all but purrs. “So maybe _I_ was fucking another man when _he_ walked in, but that didn’t make it _less awkward_.”

“So I totally win—”

“Try trying to talk to a guy who wants to have a serious breakup conversation while you still have another guy’s—”

“ _Okay_ , Chris,” Phichit interrupts quickly.

“Regardless,” Chris adds, “I think I still certainly win, like… most awkward sexual encounter. At the _very_ least.”

Phichit laughs, Guang Hong joining in not long after. Chris levels a contemplative stare at him; Guang Hong can’t help but wonder if perhaps Chris was expecting him to act freaked out by the mere mention of sex (somehow he has a reputation of being innocent). It isn’t as though it’s anything that he hasn’t heard before — and it certainly isn’t as though he’s _inexperienced_. But when Chris turns to Leo, a smirk comes across his face. Startled, Guang Hong looks, too, right into Leo’s blushing face.

“What about you, Leo?” Chris asks.

“I, um, like, haven’t really had any awkward breakups or anything—” His blush is dying down, but he certainly doesn’t look comfortable. Guang Hong picks his drink back up with a sigh, wondering if this is enough impetus to allow him and Leo to leave without it being rude. Guang Hong really does _hate_ hot tubs in this weather.

“No,” Chris says with a sigh as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “I’m talking about awkward _sex_ stories.”

Guang Hong looks at Leo, trying to play it cool as he takes another drink; he feels anything _but_ cool, just thinking about _Leo_ and _sex_ in the same context, which is something he’s been trying and failing hard at avoiding.

“I’ve never had sex,” Leo answers, staring at Chris defiantly.

And Guang Hong promptly spits out his scotch and soda.

His drink goes _straight_ into the hot tub, and he coughs a couple of times.

“Like, grade-A extra-virgin? Like even your _hand_ has _never_ touched another man's _—_ ”

“Yes,” Leo interrupts frantically. “I mean _no_ — I mean, God, yes, one hundred percent virgin.”

“ _We’ve got ourselves a virgin!”_ Chris proclaims, raising his glass into the sky.

Guang Hong finally stops coughing. Chris is clinking his glass with Phichit, who is laughing uproariously. He manages to look back at Leo, who’s staring at him. Both their faces are completely red. Guang Hong frantically tells himself that it’s _not at all_ odd for someone to be a virgin at twenty-three — that he’s overreacting. But he’s having enough difficulty wrapping his head around the fact that he’s into someone who _isn’t_ the bachelor, let alone someone who’s a _virgin_.

Not even Delun could talk sense into him now.

“Um…” Leo says.

“It’s not weird?” Guang Hong says, but it comes out more like a question.

“I know.” He says it firmly, a little obstinately — which is undercut a little by the flush still on his face. “But you’re the one, like, _dousing_ the hot tub with half your scotch.”

“It’s just surprising… I mean, you’re, um, _super_ hot.” The words come out before he can even think about them, and he immediately blushes furiously. He’s glad that Chris is too busy regaling Phichit with the stories of the _other_ virgins who have been on the show, so neither are particularly paying attention. Not for the first time, he’s grateful for Chris’s short attention span.

Leo’s face turns a little redder. “It’s not a _big deal_.”

“ _God_ , I am _burning up_.” Guang Hong gracelessly changes the subject and then stands up in the hot tub, climbing out the side. He starts to stumble, but Leo’s hand goes to his waist. He curses, for the millionth time, his hair-trigger blush. “I’m going to bed,” he announces to the other three, not waiting for a response as he stalks off towards the mansion.

“Wait up!” Leo calls.

And Guang Hong can’t help but pause for him.

He’s keeping a journal with all the minute details of his time on the show. It was Delun’s insistence, and Delun buying the three journals ( _Just in case!_ he exclaimed when Guang Hong declared _three_ to be: _Absolute overkill_ ) that finally convinced him. But there’s plenty to record, plenty he can talk to Reality Steve about in an interview on the off-chance that he makes enough of an impression to be able to Twitter-charm his way into an interview (he doesn’t care about press or publicity but he does _adore_ Reality Steve).

But maybe he should start making a new list every day: _The Sheer Number of Things I’m Doing Very Very Wrong._

And Leo will be number one every single day.

Leo slings an arm over his shoulder, just like always. Oblivious, just like always. Cute, carefree, perfect, ( _virgin_ ,) just like always.

Guang Hong’s own simultaneous heaven and hell on this mess of a show.

* * *

  **Sunday**

Yuri sits up straight when the limo door finally opens, watching with a smirk as Otabek does a double-take when he looks at him.

“I’ve heard I’m not allowed to come with you today,” Yuri says.

“I heard that, too.” Otabek climbs in and sits right next to Yuri. He gives a glance at the empty driver’s seat and then looks back at Yuri.

Of course Yuri _wants_ to go to the rink with Otabek, but apparently they’re leaving for their undisclosed next location hours before Otabek is. It’s especially annoying since he isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to continue crashing his morning skating practices when they’re traveling. So he woke up and snuck out early to get into the car first, just to be able to see Otabek’s expression.

Otabek is looking at him with a soft, sleepy smile, and Yuri knows it was worth it. “And yet here you are,” Otabek adds softly.

“I thought I’d say goodbye.”

For a second, Otabek almost looks panicky — which is certainly an expression Yuri has never seen on him.

“I mean, until the next mysterious location,” Yuri clarifies, grabbing his hand. 

Otabek smiles and starts hovering closer, and Yuri’s breath catches. He’s so used to waiting for Otabek to make the first move that he sits completely still, but then Otabek asks playfully, “Did you, like, murder the driver?”

Yuri laughs. “Just mild threats.”

Then he grabs the back of Otabek’s neck and pulls him forward.

Otabek seems to melt into him, fingers threading in Yuri’s hair. Yuri deepens their kiss immediately, feeling all through his body the noise that Otabek makes. Just when he starts thinking that it’s difficult to get as close as he wants sitting like this, Otabek abruptly breaks their kiss swings his leg over to Yuri’s other side, settling himself in Yuri’s lap.

Yuri stares at him, at his lust-filled eyes that he’s sure mirror his own. “Jesus, Altin,” he says, hands roaming around Otabek’s back. He slips one hand under Otabek’s shirt, feeling a shiver go through his body. He leans forward and kisses at his neck for a second, but then Otabek pushes him back and crushes their lips together again. He’s the one to deepen the kiss this time, sliding his tongue against Yuri’s. Yuri seriously considers tugging off Otabek’s shirt, but he decides against it.

Otabek tries to get even closer, moving farther forward on Yuri’s lap. Yuri gasps in a breath and then goes back to kissing Otabek. He’s surprised Otabek is letting things get so heated; _Yuri_ can go inside and jerk off after this, but Otabek doesn’t have that luxury. But he isn’t about to complain, instead responding with just as much enthusiasm as Otabek.

The front door of the car opens, and Otabek breaks off, panting. They both look at the driver, who peeks his head in. He rolls his eyes and says, “Two minutes,” slamming the door behind him.

Yuri gives a shaky laugh, but Otabek just kisses him again. “Shouldn’t we be—” Yuri starts to ask, but Otabek’s lips stop him.

He pulls back just long enough to say, “Two minutes is a long time.”

Yuri laughs and kisses him back.

* * *

_Next week, on The Bachelor…_

_Production is already counting on Yuri being Otabek’s one true love, but will this group date irreparably damage their new relationship?_

_Yuuri suspects that Viktor is developing feelings (and songs?) for him, but a few glasses of wine might cause the entire situation to end before it can even begin._

_Secrets are revealed and new friendships are formed at the luxurious next destination!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost: NEW TSWIFT MUSIC. Hannah and I are impossibly excited — and by the time the next chapter comes out, the entire album will be out! 
> 
> Chapter title from tswift's "…Ready for It?"
> 
> We're sorry for the delay since the last chapter, but, well… that's what happens when chapters are this long I guess. Hopefully the next update will be sooner, but realistically, expect it after Christmas. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who wished me well on my surgery. It went well (though it obviously delayed writing a bit)! I am actually doing really well by now, and I'm back to swimming a bit. 
> 
> Hannah got a job! 
> 
> Quick note: We really don't hate Phichit! We just feel like this is how he would react in this situation. 
> 
> Also, I mean… if anyone wants a MichEmil spin-off oneshot… let me know… because it could happen…
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. heaven can't help me now - nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down

**Monday**

“Welcome to wine country!” Emil announces.

Yuri sighs and leans back on the couch. Guang Hong gives him a fleeting, commiserating look before leaning over to whisper something to Leo. For once, Yuri doesn’t even think he can be accused of having a bad attitude — which he does, admittedly, but everyone else looks equally unimpressed. Even sycophant Phichit looks ready to burst into a fit of rage (which Yuri finds to be an _over_ reaction).

Personally, he finds wine country as interesting or uninteresting of a location as he might have thought to hope for. In all honesty, he just doesn’t care. He’s just seething because they’ve already been here well over twenty-four hours, locked in this hotel suite. There’s five bedrooms, with two people to every room except prima donna Viktor. Part of the living room has been co-opted by a long table for their meals, since they apparently can’t be seen by human eyes unless those eyes have signed a strict non-disclosure agreement.

They’re expressly forbidden from leaving the hotel room.

(At least when he was trapped in a hotel room for those four long days before the show started filming, he had a room to himself, a TV to watch, and unlimited cheesecake. Sure, it was boring and lonely, but it was better than being locked up with _Phichit_ and _JJ._ )

One of a series of bored P.A.’s is posted next to the front door at all times. Yuri heard from Chris that there’s _also_ a hotel security guard immediately on the _other_ side of the door, which is currently the only thing keeping Yuri from risking a prison break.

He hasn’t admitted it during any of his painfully long interviews with Mila, but he misses Otabek.

This is _allegedly_ a very nice hotel, but he only saw about two hallways before they were forced inside the suite. Now, the only thing the nine of them have been able to do that’s remotely considered fun is sit out on the long balcony and look at the expanse of gardens. Phichit compared it to Versailles, and Yuri rolled his eyes. The seconds have ticked by painfully. He didn’t like being cooped up in the mansion, either, but at least he could go outside — at least there were places to hide. Places to _think_. Places to breathe. Stolen moments with Otabek.

There are no such luxuries here.

“Okay, guys,” Mila snaps suddenly. Yuri looks up at her, taking a long drink from his wine glass. (It’s pretty much the _only_ thing to do, plus it really _is_ good wine.) “You have to be more enthusiastic than that, Jesus _Christ_.”

Emil looks at her for another few seconds and then turns back to them, the same old grin spreading over his face. “Welcome to wine country!” he says again; it sounds so much like it did the first time, it’s almost like watching a DVD skipping. Yuri finds it a little eerie, but, as always, everyone is more willing to play along than he is. He sees fake smiles surrounding him, a few vapid proclamations of excitement — from Phichit, Chris, and JJ, of course.

“This week, in beautiful Sonoma, we’re going to be having two dates — as usual. First, a group date bright and early tomorrow. Then, one of you lucky gentlemen will have a one-on-one.” Emil — unusually dressed up for a day that doesn’t contain a rose ceremony — pulls an envelope from his royal blue sport jacket and hands it to Yuuri, who flushes and takes it. “Well, good luck, guys.” Then he practically bounces out of the room, giving Mila a silly little salute on his way.

“Okay,” Yuuri says, taking a deep breath. He rips open the card and reads, “Sometimes love is an experiment. Otabek.” Everyone looks either at Guang Hong or Chris, but — for once — they both look equally confused. Then Yuuri continues, “JJ, Phichit, Chris, Yuuri _K_ , Viktor, Seung-gil, Leo, and…” he trails off dramatically. Yuri looks over just as Guang Hong does; they stare awkwardly for a second, and Guang Hong unconsciously or otherwise flinches a half-foot away.

Maybe it’s the game going straight to Yuri’s head, or maybe it’s the visceral feeling of _wanting_ Otabek, but he viciously wants the one-on-one. He’s beginning to realize there’s not going to be _any_ opportunity for a clandestine meeting with Otabek for the entire six days they’re stuck here — and God knows what’s going to happen after that. So this is his only chance.

Yuuri takes another deep breath and finishes, “Yuri _P_.”

Guang Hong’s face brightens — he doesn’t look nearly as terrified as Yuri would’ve guessed — and Leo says, “ _Nice_.”

Yuri looks up to see JJ smirking at him. He leans and whispers something to Chris, who laughs, too. Phichit’s expression isn’t much more friendly, and Yuri jumps off the couch just as Guang Hong and Leo start speculating about what _magical_ one-on-one date he might go on.

_Fuck this_ , he wants to snap, but he doesn’t want to give JJ and Phichit any more reason to look so goddamn self-satisfied. So instead he walks over to his room, intending to slam the door so hard the entire hotel might come crashing down. Instead, Mila catches his arm and whispers, “Time for an interview.”

Yuri wrenches his arm away easily, but she has that glint in her eyes and he _knows_ he can’t get out of it.

“Whatever,” he snaps. He supposes that it’s better than sitting _here_.

* * *

**Tuesday**

Otabek can’t help but wonder if Bachelors and Bachelorettes who put more work into staying in Minako’s good graces get more input in their season. Beyond occasionally offering a firm _no_ if production suggests something _truly_ ridiculous — a kissing contest, really? — he’s silent. He wonders if they only invite him to meetings out of politeness, habit, or maybe even some fine print in his contract that he doesn’t remember anymore.

Regardless, he can’t help but feel he’s getting invited to even fewer now, but he doesn’t ask and he doesn’t complain. Sure, he hates being blindsided, but he also hates feeling like he’s somehow complicit in the emotional warfare waged on this group of (mostly) decent men. It’s quite a paradox, and — like most things in his personal life thus far — he knows he’s going to continue to choose inaction.

_Wine Country_ , they had said, after a grumbling discussion about the difficulties of visa issues and some muttering about _Russia_ in a tone Otabek didn’t particularly like. They asked what he thought about that, and he shrugged. _Thanks for the enthusiasm_ , Minako said, and he wasn’t sure of the reason behind the sickly sweet smile on her face.

It occurred to him about an hour later that their comments must mean that they must not have been expecting Yuri to stay around this long. Part of him wanted to celebrate defying their expectations, but most of him was just nervous about how much they might be attacking Yuri behind the scenes.

Now, Emil is sitting next to him, looking as energetic as a puppy, while they drive into the vineyard. Otabek sees one of the cameramen standing alongside the road, getting a shot of the car as it goes under the sign proclaiming _Viansa Sonoma_. The car winds up a dirt path, past rows and rows of vines, until the car pulls into a circular driveway and stops.

Emil hops out first and Otabek follows suit, following him around a large, vine-covered building to the back. The vineyard stretches in front of him, and it catches Otabek off-guard for a second, how beautiful it is. He’s been all over the world, but nothing has ever looked so definingly idyllic.

“Welcome!” Emil exclaims, and Otabek blinks, finally looking at everything happening on the patio. The eight men remaining — not including Guang Hong — are standing in a line. Yuri catches his gaze first, and it’s all Otabek can do to not return his wide grin with a smile. “Now that we’re in one of the most beautiful vineyards in the _world_ , we thought it would be great if everyone learned the true art of winemaking… the hands-on way.”

Most people look intrigued or even excited by the idea. Phichit is bouncing on his feet as he whispers something to Leo, who’s also grinning. On the other end of the line, Yuri mutters something to JJ, who instantly looks pissed off. Otabek doesn’t think much of it, knowing the two don’t exactly get along.

Two people in their mid-thirties from the winery come out to join them, introducing themselves as David and Lydia. They look excited and nervous and glance at the camera every thirty seconds as they introduce the winery. It almost makes Otabek laugh, just thinking about the time when he, too, wasn’t used to the cameras’ constant presence.

“Well,” Lydia says brightly. “Let’s go pick some grapes.”

***

Yuri doesn’t mean for the day to start off that way… and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to continue.

_Of course_ he was happy to see Otabek, but maybe it was resentment still lingering from yesterday’s news that Guang Hong was getting a one-on-one date. _Especially_ considering that Guang Hong just won his two-on-one date, which Yuri assumes entailed all sorts of intimate romantic moments, considering it immediately led him to an all-important one-on-one. Or maybe it was just these last forty-eight hours of being locked in a hotel room with eight other people he _doesn’t like_ who keep talking about how they want to be with a man _he_ wants to be with.

It’s a breeding ground for insanity.

“He _thinks_ he’s special,” JJ said to Chris with a laugh earlier that morning, when they were all filing out of the bus that transported them the very short distance to the vineyard. JJ’s eyes were fixed on Yuri, the smirk on his face the exact kind that Yuri would like to punch off him. Chris, ever-agreeable in the most literal sense, just nodded, and JJ continued, “As if it isn’t _obvious_ that Otabek only wants one thing out of him.”

“Fantasy suites,” Chris says, inexplicably with all the significance of the universe in his voice.

“After all, _Guang Hong_ is the one Otabek is _actually_ paying attention to. First impression rose, date after date…”

Still seething, Yuri finally went to Seung-gil, his thankfully always-quiet roommate. Seung-gil isn’t a fan of this hellscape of a show like Chris of Guang Hong, but he seems to have an encyclopedic knowledge of just about _everything_. So he informed Yuri that fantasy suites were the week of the show when the final three contestants got one-on-one dates, and then — if both parties agreed, of course — an overnight date. He just shrugged when Yuri gasped out a comment about bachelors and bachelorettes sleeping with _three people_ every season.

After Yuri thought for a while, he considered the fact that he certainly _has_ casually dated before, and has hooked up with multiple guys in a week-long period. But the thought of _Otabek_ doing it is repulsive to him.

Once the shock wore off, he realized that was what JJ was saying — that Otabek is just keeping him around for the possibility of having sex with him in a few weeks.

To say that put him in a bad mood before even _seeing_ Otabek is an understatement.

So when they’re all lined up and informed that they would be hands-on making wine, Yuri can’t help but lean over to JJ — who had the nerve to stand next to him — and mutter, “Are you sure you can handle actually _working_ without your name being on the door?”

JJ looks up at him, scowling. “Are you sure you want to risk chipping your _manicure_?”

Yuri just laughs under his breath and looks up as David and Lydia start talking.

***

Viktor has been to wine country before. To be fair, he’s been basically _everywhere_ before now. Between touring and vacations and wanting secret getaways with new boyfriends, he’s been to every place where he can buy privacy for the right price. But he’s never been to _this_ particular winery, and he’s glad that everyone else’s bad moods seem to have (at least _mostly_ ) dissipated now that they’re out in the open again. He doesn’t particularly care one way or the other, but people _are_ more amusing when they aren’t quietly pissed off.

He’s been _trying_ to find Yuuri to talk to, which should’ve been easy when they were trapped in the hotel, but Yuuri always manages to slip off and avoid him just when he gets close enough. The worst part is that Viktor doesn’t even know if he’s just being paranoid.

Maybe Yuuri knows about this ridiculous crush Viktor has on him.

Maybe it’s just going to be another might-have-been fading out before it has a chance to begin.

Viktor sighs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his mint-green shorts. He’s also wearing a cream short-sleeved button-down and argyle suspenders. He didn’t miss the look Yuri gave his outfit, but for once it didn’t seem to be particularly hostile. He’s confident enough about — what Yuri has implied to be — his obnoxiously vintage fashion choices, but it’s still always nice to be validated by a fashion designer who gives so little validation to begin with.

Everyone is swarming around the field, picking grapes. The cameras stalk between rows, and Viktor gamely picks off a few when Phichit wanders close enough to him. But mostly he just observes and makes sure that his hands don’t get too dirty.

He tries to get near Yuuri, but — just like the last couple days — Yuuri always manages to stay a safe distance away from him. Close enough for a polite smile on the off-chance Viktor manages to make eye contact with him, but not nearly close enough for a conversation.

Viktor has taken to wracking his brain, trying to figure out what he might have said during that conversation in his room to inspire this kind of behavior. Sure, Yuuri has always been a _little_ awkward around him — if Viktor wants to be charitable — but Viktor is familiar with meeting all _sorts_ of fans, so he doesn’t find it unusual. And it really seemed for a while there as though the distance between them was narrowing.

He’d honestly been touched and grateful when Yuuri bothered to check on him. Sure, he might’ve been a little testy, as he always was when frustrated from songwriting — and _interrupted_ from songwriting — but he doesn’t think he’d acted in any sort of way that warranted Yuuri avoiding him like the _plague_.

He’s staring hard at the back of Yuuri’s head when Yuuri looks up at him, maybe unconsciously meeting his eyes. A blush spreads like wildfire over his cheeks, and suddenly his gaze is back on Phichit. Viktor frowns and keeps staring.

And staring.

He only looks up when JJ drops his basket of grapes. He can’t help but notice Yuri, standing only a few feet away with a triumphant smile on his face. JJ fixes him with a glare and mutters what Viktor thinks sounds like a low threat.

Viktor sighs and saunters towards Mila, tired — truly tired, for the first time — of being part of this charade.

***

“Should we step in?” Emil jokes.

Minako is sitting in a chair in front of the portable monitors they brought, and she leans back far enough to look up at him with a smirk on her face. There’s a chair for him, too, but he just leans against it as they both look at the screens. They’ve moved onto the stage of the date where they’re squishing grapes with their feet — even though the winery had emphatically insisted that this is _not_ part of their wine-making process, Minako had insisted so vehemently that they had agreed. And now Emil gets it — eight men stepping on grapes in such an enclosed space. It sounds silly, but tensions already seem to be running high.

She hands him her glass of red wine wordlessly, and he takes a drink and hands it back. “It’s good,” he says.

She gives a giggle into the glass and takes a sip. It takes him a second to realize that on the monitor, Yuri pushed JJ into the grapes. His laughter looks nothing short of maniacal, and the other camera is catching Otabek’s shocked expression.

“Now _that’s_ good TV,” she tells him, a triumphant little smile on her face, as JJ gets up with clothes dyed red from the grapes.

Emil pats her on the shoulder and then turns around. “Call me if you need me,” he says, walking in the general direction of the parking area, knowing he can be back in the hotel in less than ten minutes. They won’t need him for _hours_ , if at all. There’s no rose ceremony tonight. Just a group date rose that _certainly_ won’t be going to Yuri.

“Say hi to Michele for me,” Minako calls after him.

Emil freezes and turns back around. For once, Minako’s gaze is one hundred percent focused on him, the monitors forgotten. “Um,” he responds lamely, taking a couple steps closer to her. “You _know_?”

“You think I wouldn’t know that someone is sleeping with you in the _hotel room I’m paying for?_ ” She laughs again, and there’s nothing but amusement on her face. He’s gotten good at reading her these last couple years, and for once he can’t see anything that he needs to be wary of.

But when he laughs, it sounds a bit unstable.

“I thought you were straight,” she says then, her smile fading.

“I guess even you get things wrong sometimes. I’m bi.” He tries to keep his tone light. He hadn’t ever really _meant_ to be closeted, but people just tend to assume he’s straight. And this situation with Mickey, well, he’s too old to make a big deal out of something that was a long time coming. Maybe if he ever felt _really_ comfortable around her, he would’ve gone to her for advice. But instead he had just followed his usually-reliable instincts and showed up at Mickey’s house, just a couple days after he’d been eliminated from the show. Emil hadn’t needed much time to think.

Mickey was _all_ he could think about.

She nods, and for the first time, she looks away from him. “You could’ve told me.”

“We don’t really… talk about our personal lives.” He doesn’t even know if she has _siblings_ or a _pet_ — other than her preferred torture methods and beverage choices, virtually everything about Minako is a mystery.  But he finds himself wandering even closer to her, shoving his hands in his pockets. He has friends other than her, but he’s not entirely sure that’s true the other way around.

“You’re the in-touch-with-their-feelings one of us.”

He laughs, and she looks up at him with a smile. “True,” he concedes.

“And you’re happy? With _Michele_?”

He laughs at that, too. He _loves_ Mickey — he really _does_ , as new and refreshing as it feels to even think the word — but he understands better than anyone that Mickey isn’t exactly likeable in the usual sense. He’s as abrasive as he is taciturn, as jealous as he is standoffish. “I’m very happy,” he says, and it’s true. He feels his usual grin spread over his face, and he feels whatever tension that was momentarily between them melt away. She smiles, too.

“But you can’t take him with us when we travel next week.”

“Well, I know _that_.”

“I won’t cut you slack because we’re friends, you know.”

“You wouldn’t know how,” he jokes.

There’s a pause. He rocks back and forth on his heels, not sure what she’s expecting of him now. She _is_ his boss, after all — even if he’s never felt the line of demarcation as much as everyone else seems to.

“Stay for a few minutes,” she says. “Okay, more like a half-hour. There’s something I want you to help me with. Oh, what do you call it?”

“Acting human?” he guesses.

She giggles again as she turns back to the monitors. “Exactly.” She picks up an empty wine glass from under the table and pours him a glass of the red wine she’s been drinking. She extends it towards him, and he only hesitates a second before walking back over to her, finally sitting down on his chair. 

“I’m glad Chris Harrison quit,” she says.

He laughs. “Me, too.”

***

Otabek leans forward and sighs. He knows that in a second he’ll be scolded about his posture, but for now, he just looks on as Minako — who’s sitting in the chair across from him — whispers something to Emil. They go back and forth, but after about thirty seconds, Otabek sighs again and scans around the room. They’re holed up in a room somewhere in the winery, with bottles and bottles of wine lining the wall behind him. The camera is sitting next to Minako, while Fischer, the cameraman, does nothing except tap out messages on his phone as he waits for her go-ahead.

Otabek has already been interviewing for nearly an hour, fielding question after question about every single contestant, with one very notable exception. Sure, he’s no more of a fan of these tedious interviews than he was three weeks ago when this whole thing started, but he’s at least become marginally adept at them. He doesn’t get yelled at nearly as often anymore, which he considers a major win.

Minako giggles, the seemingly pleasant sound making him shudder like nails on a chalkboard. He looks back at her as she grins up at Emil, and after another quick whisper, she waves him away. There’s a pause with barely-audible steps as Emil carefully makes his way back to the edge of the room.

Time seems to stop for a moment like it always does, as Fischer focuses the camera and Minako waits with what seems to be carefully controlled impatience. And then her brown eyes meet his again, a pleasant smile on her face that makes him feel like ice water has been poured over him.

“There’s been some strange things going on with Yuri Plisetsky and JJ out there.”

Even if he’d known this was coming — there’s no other reason she would’ve been so careful to avoid mentioning Yuri — he still steels himself. “Is there?” he asks stiffly.

“Childish antics, really. Tripping, shoving — like they’re back in middle school or something.”

“I guess we’ve hit the week where everyone’s feeling a little… stir-crazy.” _Trapped_ or _suffocated_ are the words he would’ve used, but he doesn’t want to have her say, _phrasing!_ , and then make him repeat himself, as is her custom. 

She shrugs — just the tiniest raise of her delicate shoulders — before steamrolling on, “I guess that’s how people get when they’re looking for a prize.”

He blinks, trying not to frown at the word ‘prize’, but he’s sure the corners of his lips twist down, judging by the glint that comes into her eyes. “Yuri doesn’t seem to be handling it all that well,” he concedes after a careful second; he knows it isn’t much of a gambit, but it’s _something_ — something he’s sure she wants from him. Normally he wouldn’t say something quite so candid — because, well, Yuri _isn’t_ handling this week very well, if the morning is proof of anything — but he just wants to head off her poking and prodding on the off-chance he can stop her in her tracks before she can plunge the knife in.

“You’re right,” she says, leaning back in her chair the way she only ever does when their interview is over, but the sinking feeling in his stomach is telling him that she’s got one last hand to play. “Some people really _don’t_ handle this process very well. Makes you wonder how he’d be if we’d gone with a _different_ Bachelor.”

Otabek freezes, the wind knocked out of him. He stares blankly, looking from Minako to the barrel of the camera, barely seeing either.

He knows, of course, that he wasn’t the only man they talked to about being the Bachelor. And on more than one occasion he’s fantasized about still being back in Almaty, training like normal and not needing to worry for a second about romantic misadventures. He had barely even _heard_ of _The Bachelor_ before this whole thing started, and the show’s first-ever gay Bachelor season probably wouldn’t have even pinged on his radar.

But he’s never thought of it like _this_.

He’s never considered it before — the fact that Yuri would still be here if they’d chosen someone other than him to lead this show.

He’d be here, fighting furiously. For the _prize_ at the end.

Exactly the same way.

“Oh,” Otabek says, startling himself. He blinks and looks at Minako — _really_ looks — but she’s whispering something to Fischer with a satisfied smirk on her face. “Can I go?” he asks, louder this time.

“Sure,” she says, waving her hand at him.

He stands up and walks quickly to the door, yanking it open a little too hard.

***

Yuri hasn’t exactly been on his best behavior, but after that incident where he _allegedly_ pushed JJ while they were squashing grapes (well, _yes_ , of course he actually did push him), he’s toned it down a little. Their tour of the fermenting and bottling process went without incident, and the wine tasting is going just as well so far.

People are disappearing occasionally like it’s a horror movie, but he knows they’re all just going off for interviews. Yuri looks around, but Mila is off with Yuuri and Minako grabbed Leo only five minutes ago. Viktor and Chris are having a conversation with Seung-gil that looks stilted even from all the way across the room, and JJ and Phichit are sniffing at their wine glasses in a way that makes Yuri want to throttle them.

He doesn’t notice when Otabek comes back into the room until he’s standing right next to him. Yuri looks up at him and grins, as happy as always to be able to have time with him — especially with the lack of alone time lately. But when Otabek looks up at him, his face is deadly serious. Yuri is well aware by now that Otabek isn’t exactly the most expressive person he’s ever met, but he’s never seen him look like _this_ before.

“Could we talk?” Otabek asks him softly.

His tone has Yuri looking around, and, sure enough, no one is looking at them. The only cameraman there is chatting to a P.A. while his camera is pointed at an empty area of the room, and there’s no Minako or Mila in sight.

“Sure,” Yuri says, and follows after him. He has no idea where Otabek is taking him, but he seems to know where he’s going, since it only takes a minute until they’re outside, going out a barely-visible side door of the vineyard. It’s probably used for employees’ smoke breaks, especially considering there’s shrubbery surrounding them from all sides.

Otabek looks around, and it occurs to Yuri that maybe he _isn’t_ as familiar with this place as it seems. Yuri crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Otabek peek out around the shrubs to see what else is around. Normally, Yuri wouldn’t be nearly this quiet, but the sinking, nauseated feeling in his stomach is keeping him from making any sudden movements.

Just a few days ago, Otabek would’ve pulled him away like this so they could steal time at the rink, or just hang out outside. Or _make out_ outside. Now, looking as Otabek gestures for him to follow, Yuri can’t help but feel like that’s a distant memory.

Otabek is sitting down on a secluded bench when Yuri catches up to him — just a normal, wooden bench. There are still plants everywhere, and Yuri can’t see more than a few feet in any direction. He sits down and stares at Otabek, who’s looking down at his hands.

“Well?” Yuri asks, a little more sharply than he wanted to. But he’s wound up; his nerves have been snapping one by one all day, and now he isn’t sure he has anymore left.

“Why?” Otabek asks softly. “Why are you messing with JJ like that?”

Yuri blinks, trying and failing to stop his expression from twisting into a smirk. “Why _not_?”

“Yuri.” Otabek just breathes his name out, meeting his gaze again. The cold, stony expression in his eyes now looks hurt — and it makes Yuri’s blood go cold. Suddenly he has _no idea_ what’s happening. He’d thought this was just about his silly bad behavior, but now the floor has completely fallen out from under him. He reaches down and grips the seat of the bench hard, knuckles turning white.

“I just—” he tries to start. “I just — I don’t know. I’m bored? I don’t — I don’t want to talk about _JJ_.”

“All day, you—”

“It isn’t like he even gives a _fuck_ about you,” Yuri interrupts, not really meaning to. He just wants to dismantle whatever Otabek is thinking — he’s sure this isn’t about JJ. Not really.

Otabek stares hard at him, and Yuri forces himself to stares right back.

“Do _you_?” Otabek whispers, then.

Yuri recoils unconsciously, his side slamming against the wooden arm of the bench. He waits for a couple long seconds, expecting — hoping — a corner of Otabek’s mouth to quirk up, or maybe just an offhand _just kidding_. He knows Otabek well enough to know rationally that he wouldn’t do that, but it’s easier than believing he’s _serious_.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Yuri blurts out.

Otabek rubs his forehead, breaking his eye contact. Staying silent. As though he’s allowed to just drop a bomb like that and then avoid him.

“What are you _accusing_ me of?” Yuri insists. His heart is hammering. He’s trying frantically to tell himself not to jump to any conclusions — like he _always_ does — but Otabek isn’t make it any easier by being silent.

“I mean — fucking with JJ like that?” he says, sounding unsure, but at least he’s making eye contact again. “And you’re — I mean — you _are_ competitive.”

“What are you saying?”

Otabek looks like he’s already regretting this, but he takes a deep breath and then says, “Is this… just a competition to you?”

Yuri jumps up. His throat is completely dry, and memories flash in his brain.

When he first met Otabek, expecting the worst but unable to stop himself from being immediately _interested_. Waiting and waiting and waiting for Otabek to kiss him. That fashion show — Otabek biting off his glove. Even down to sitting at the rink when he practices, looking up and catching his eye now and then. That feeling of warmth every time their eyes meet. It’s unlike anything Yuri has ever experienced — giddy like a schoolyard crush but too intense for that.

It’s only been three weeks, but this is nothing but real to Yuri.

“Fuck you,” he says, too worked up to say anything else. “ _Fuck you_ , Otabek.”

He stalks off in the opposite direction. He hears Otabek call his name behind him, but he doesn’t even pause. He turns a corner, around a tree, and nearly runs smack into Fischer, who grins at him sheepishly. Yuri looks at the camera slung over his shoulder and groans.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” he mutters, and keeps walking.

***

Leo sips at his water, bored. Phichit _was_ over here talking to him, but then was the first one called to talk to Otabek.

They all got pulled back to the hotel for a couple hours, fed dinner and instructed to change. Guang Hong was nowhere to be found, but when he found Sara — who, to his knowledge, has been with Guang Hong at the hotel all day — she just gave him a _look_. He didn’t know what the look was, but he didn’t press further. So he just ate alone, felt crippling boredom, and then changed into mustard-yellow chinos and a royal blue shirt. It’s more of a look than he would normally go with, but Guang Hong had picked it out for him the night before and assured him that it would be a ‘hit’.

Then they were brought _back_ to the winery, everyone better fed but cranky from the late hour — already ten at night, with hours more filming left. They were taken to a courtyard they hadn’t been to before. Everything was decked out in lights, looking like some sort of wonderland, with bottles and bottles of wine everywhere. Leo doesn’t much like wine — or really any kind of alcohol — in the first place, but just remembering the feeling of grapes being squashed under his feet has made him give the table of wine an extra-wide berth.

Now here he is, sitting here alone. Maybe if he were less tired, he’d try to wrangle Viktor into another conversation about music. But all he can think about is the fact that the producers of this show seem hell-bent on not allowing he and Guang Hong to ever go on a group date together. If he were here, they could pass this time together, no problem. _Everything_ is fun with Guang Hong — and even if it isn’t filled with interesting conversation, at least their silence has always been companionable. Plus, nothing is ever awkward when you’re with someone else.

He sighs and sinks farther into the couch, wishing he could just lay down and take a nap. But just when he starts thinking about what sort of consequences there would be if he went to the bathroom and just disappeared for a half hour or so to explore, Otabek walks up to him. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his black jeans. His button-up is a barely different shade — maybe _slightly_ more charcoal than black.

“Want to talk?” he asks, and Leo looks over his shoulder at the approaching camera.

“Yeah!”

Leo starts to get up, but then Otabek just sits down. Leo can’t help but do a scan of the area, but no one is particularly near them. Instantly, he feels a little better, straightening up as he grins at Otabek. Otabek’s returning expression isn’t what Leo is used to; he and Otabek have been friends for years now, and he’s come to expect his stoicism. But this is something different altogether.

“What’s wrong?” Leo asks, not even considering playing it cool.

Otabek’s eyes widen a little. “Oh, um… long night.”

Leo can tell he’s lying, but he doesn’t miss the way Otabek glances at one of the cameras. He tries to tell himself that Otabek _would_ talk to him about it, if they weren’t being watched every second of the day.

“These dates are probably hard at this point, right? Still, like, getting to know everyone. Except me, of course.” Leo laughs a little at that, and Otabek gives him a half-smile that looks forced. Leo isn’t sure why he wants to remind Otabek of that, but their preexisting friendship is seeming like more and more of a tenuous advantage as the days wear on. Even disregarding _the_ Viktor being here, Leo isn’t missing the looks Otabek and Yuri give each other. And no matter what Guang Hong had to say about two-on-one dates last week, Otabek certainly _is_ giving him a _lot_ of extra attention — especially with this one-on-one coming up. And, besides, he’s _Guang Hong_ — superior in every way to Leo, in _Leo_ ’s own opinion.

He wracks his brain trying to think of something to say, because Otabek has taken to looking off into the distance, looking more than a little forlorn. _Are you okay?_ he wants to ask again, but he knows the answer won’t be any different.

“How’s skating been going?” he blurts out. He flushes a little, but when Otabek meets his eyes again, he’s back to looking human.

“Pretty good,” he answers, his expression more open. “It’s strange, having more time to just _think_ about things with more limited practice time. It’s letting my body rest a little, I think. How about you?”

Leo nods emphatically, and they sink into their conversation. Leo breathes a sigh of relief.

***

Yuuri is looking at the bottles of wine, contemplating which kind to try next. (They’re all so _good_.) Otabek is off talking to Leo — which Yuuri can see out of the corner of his eye — but his main concern is making sure that Viktor stays a safe distance away. Yuuri can see him out of the corner of his _other_ eye, talking to Mila. So he goes back to the wine, knowing he’s safe for at least a few minutes.

He reaches out for a Riesling when he feels arms wrap around his neck. “How many glasses is that, Katsuki?”

Yuuri is still holding the bottle, and nearly knocks several of the others down as he tries to stay upright. It’s Phichit — of _course_ it’s Phichit. Yuuri’s already wine-reddened face deepens in color as he meets Viktor’s eyes from several dozen yards away. Viktor had been deep in conversation, but he broke off when their eyes met. Time seems to stand still for a second — or maybe that’s just the wine talking — until Yuuri finally wrenches his gaze away.

“Um,” Yuuri says, unable to remember what Phichit asked. And, he can’t help but try to think, not just because he’s three glasses of wine deep. Three- _ish_. Oh, right, _that’s_ what Phichit asked. “Two,” he lies smoothly.

“Two plus… two more, probably?” Phichit laughs.

Wine _is_ one of his weaknesses — it always has been. The wine-making process might have interested him, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been avoiding Viktor like the plague. And not _just_ avoiding him, but trying to make it seem natural. Accidental, even. But he’s sure Viktor’s noticed. Maybe that’s why Yuuri threw himself into the wine _tasting_ a little too vigorously, and why he isn’t exactly trying to abstain now. Especially when Viktor’s silver hair is looking better than ever.

If that’s even _possible_.

He’s fucked. Just positively, one hundred percent, absolutely _fucked_.

Phichit finally unwraps his arms from around his neck, grabbing the bottle of Riesling as he does so. Yuuri can’t help but pout a little at the loss, but then Phichit pours him a large glassful with a flourish, followed by a much smaller one for himself. He sets the bottle back down and then hands Yuuri his glass, not even waiting a second before clinking glasses with him.

“ _Now_ will you tell me what happened between you and Viktor?” he asks eagerly. He takes a sip and then Yuuri does too. The sip turns into a long drink, and he quite forgets to be embarrassed by Phichit’s question until Phichit wiggles his eyebrows at him.

“Nothing,” Yuuri denies a little too vehemently. A small splash of wine runs down his hand, but he ignores it. He can’t help but glance back at Viktor, who’s moved maybe ten feet closer. Yuuri blushes again. “He’s, like, _Viktor_ , you know what I mean?”

“I _think_ so.” Phichit doesn’t sound quite certain that he knows what Yuuri means, and — in all honesty — neither does Yuuri. “But you can still _like_ him.”

Yuuri looks at him, stunned at his almost offhand tone. His smirk immediately belies it, but the damage is done. The way he said it — so matter-of-factly — already seeped into Yuuri’s consciousness. _I do_ , was his brain’s automatic response, and he bites his lip to keep himself from verbalizing it. His heart hammers, he sneaks another glance at Viktor, and he takes another long drink of wine.

“Here,” Phichit says hospitably. “You need this, darling.” And he fills Yuuri’s glass back up, almost all the way to the brim.

***

“Do you want to take Yuri on a nice one-on-one?” Minako asks in his ear, her grip on his shoulder vice-like.

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, a sick feeling coming over him, like always when Minako has that little smile on her face. He just had a perfectly pleasant conversation with Leo — certainly the best he’s had all evening — but the tiny amount of residual good feelings drains away instantly.  

He wracks his brain, even though he knows there’s no point in trying to get a step ahead of her — not when he can barely get within ten feet behind her.

“I know you had a fight,” she says, as if to prove his point. For a manic second, he half-wonders if she can read his mind.

“He didn’t tell you.” His voice is a little too sharp, but if he knows one thing about Yuri, it’s that he _wouldn’t_ tell production that.

She gives him another sick smile and then tells him, “It’s all on camera, Altin. And don’t worry — Yuri walked right past a camera on his way out, so he knows all about it.”

He wants to groan at that, but he bites it back. He’s sure he looks nothing short of ill, judging by the triumphant look on her face.

“Well?” she asks, looking down at her phone as though his conversation only needs a fraction of her attention. Which is probably true. “A one-on-one with Yuri?”

“I mean — didn’t you just say — he and I are—”

Minako rolls her eyes and interrupts, “You’re going to eliminate Yuri this week?”

Her tone is dripping with sarcasm, so he just shakes his head. Just the thought of eliminating Yuri makes his stomach turn, and he’s half-tempted to break away from this conversation and go find him. He’s going nearly mad, but Yuri doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the courtyard for him to find.

“So,” she repeats, tone sharper now, “do you want to take Yuri on a one-on-one?”

“Yes,” he finally says simply.

“I can promise you a fucking _magical_ date in two weeks — no strings attached. No pranks, no gimmicks. The whole nine yards — romance on a silver platter. Not even _you_ could mess it up.” He can’t help but level a glare at her at that last comment, but she just keeps smiling. “So?” she prompts.

He sighs, unable to deny even to himself that that’s _exactly_ what he wants. But he doesn’t want to let his guard down.

“I guess,” she says, her voice now overly chipper, “that I could schedule a nice one-on-one with _JJ_ in week six if you’d rather—”

“No,” he interrupts, disgusted at just the thought. But, after a second, he realizes that it’s unusual of her to play such a trump card so early in their discussion. She must _really_ want something.

“So?” she repeats.

He teeters on the edge of a knife for a second. He knows he’s making a deal with the devil, and he watches her closely as she finally lets go of his shoulder and stands in front of him, arms crossed over her chest. She’s in a plain black dress — like usual — and she wears her staggering stilettoes as though she was born in them. There’s not a single instinct in him that says he should trust her.

“Every date you’ve ever had before this show had been sandwiched between practice and competitions and travel time and family and a million other things, hasn’t it? And look at how well those men worked out for you. Altin, I’m offering you a full _twelve hours_ of nothing but your precious Yuri Plisetsky. What kind of man would you be, passing that up?”

“Fine,” he says, taking a step away from her. “Fine. What’s your condition?”

“Who said anything about conditions?”

But he just stares at her, until she fixes him with a grin and then leans forward to whisper something in his ear.

***

“We have the same name, you know,” Yuuri says, sitting down next to Yuri.

Yuri has been curled up by himself on an uncomfortable chair on the extreme edge of the overly-enormous ‘courtyard’. He doesn’t even think that Otabek has noticed. And other than a few passes of the camera and one long interview with Minako herself — who was _definitely_ deriving all sorts of insane pleasure from this — Yuri has been here. He’s been watching silently, not nearly drunk enough (nor willing to risk walking past Otabek en route to more wine) for the time to pass in any manner other than painfully.

And he doubts Yuuri is exactly going to help things. They’ve had exactly zero conversations by themselves, and Yuri would be more than happy to keep it that way. Yuri doesn’t think of Yuuri as _anything_ , except occasionally being glad that Viktor seems to be singularly fixated on him. Yuri’s well aware of Viktor’s _most eligible bachelor_ status, and he doesn’t need any more competition for Otabek than he already has.

Though that might be a moot point, anyway.

“What?” Yuri finally snaps, frowning when Yuuri inches a little closer to him.

Then he leans into Yuri’s ear and whispers, “You know Viktor, right?”

“What do you _want_?” He can smell the wine on Yuuri, even if his suddenly strange behavior wouldn’t have tipped him off. He doesn’t know what’s made Yuuri leave his natural habitat of staying-within-five-feet-of-Phichit, but he wishes it stayed that way.

“I mean, you _like_ Viktor, right?” he asks with strange desperation. “You’re friends?”

Yuri can’t do much but glower at him, but it’s hard to be quite so _mad_ when Yuuri’s nothing but drunk. And he instantly feels the anger go out of him, exhaling at the same time.

He _does_ know Viktor, but they’ve only met a few times — at fashion evens in Moscow over the last two or three years. He’s never thought much of Viktor. For all his fame and alleged happiness, Viktor has never seemed anything except sad. And even though Yuri is always full of negative emotions, sadness is very rarely one of them.

Until now.

_Fuck_ Otabek.

“We’re friends,” Yuri says, bending the truth because it suits him better that way. He shoves against Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri goes where he’s pushed as though he’s boneless.

“You’re lucky,” Yuuri tells him. “To know him like he’s a normal person.”

Yuri stands, no longer willing to endure the conversation just to keep hold of his safe corner. “You can go talk to him, too, you know,” he snaps, and starts walking away. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his skinny jeans and starts strolling in the opposite direction. He half-expects Yuuri to follow him, but he’s relieved when he’s alone.

He tries to stay around the perimeter, but he still finds himself meeting Otabek’s gaze. Otabek was immersed in a conversation with Chris, but he breaks off when he sees Yuri. They stare at each other for a long moment.

_Is this just a competition to you?_ Otabek had asked him.

Yuri glowers at him and then breaks their eye contact. He keeps walking, this time towards the wine. It isn’t fair that Yuuri’s the only one drunk.

***

Otabek tries hard not to look at Yuri every ten seconds. Even when he manages to catch his eye, Yuri’s look of pure hurt and anger is enough to knock the wind out of him every time. So he’s stopped looking — even though the blond hair in his peripheral vision pulls at his gaze like gravity, and resisting just gets harder and harder instead of easier.

He’s supposed to be talking to Seung-gil. To be honest, between Otabek’s inability to string a sentence together and his conversation partner being _Seung-gil_ , the whole thing really seems like a lost cause. Mila looks about ready to fall asleep, and even the cameraman is just glancing around aimlessly.  

But then Seung-gil says, “I used to do the kind of art I wanted to.”

Otabek can’t help be shocked by the sudden change in conversation, so he turns back to Seung-gil immediately. He can see out of the corner of his eye that even Mila has perked up. But Seung-gil’s expression hasn’t changed at all. “What kind?” Otabek finally asks.

“It was… quite immersive.” Otabek just tilts his head at him. Seung-gil stares at him for a second, but soon he breaks and continues, “My most famous piece — at the time — was an exhibition where the viewer would go into a room that was filled with air that was only ten percent oxygen.”

Otabek’s eyebrows raise. “Doesn’t that seem — dangerous?”

Seung-gil just shrugs. “Not dangerous, just… uncomfortable. A little terrifying to most people. And, well, not exactly advisable for long periods of time, of course.”

Otabek considers himself to be more than a little on the artistic side — despite his personality — but he just shakes his head, not sure he could ever understand _that_ kind of art. “Um, but you stopped?”

“Yes,” he says softly, shrugging again. His face is as stony as always, but Otabek can’t help but think that this is his version of opening up. “Sometimes, you can’t live _just_ on the things you enjoy. But it’s human nature to try.”

The phrase _human nature_ sounds odd coming out of Seung-gil, considering his nature often seems the polar opposite of human. But he says it with an usual amount of significance, so Otabek follows his gaze as he stares at something over on the other side of the courtyard. Unfortunately, Seung-gil is looking towards the one person Otabek has barely been able to go thirty seconds without looking at.

Green eyes look up at him, caught off-guard for once, judging by the way his eyes widen instead of narrow. Otabek looks back down at his own hands before he can see Yuri’s face twist back into hatred. He exhales, heart going as fast as it does after he finishes a free skate.

Once he’s recovered, he looks back at Seung-gil — who he’s beginning to suspect is paying a bit more attention than anyone is giving him credit for.  

“I hope you’ll be able to go back to it, after all this,” Otabek says, even though he knows that was far from Seung-gil’s point. _Being singularly focused on Yuri isn’t logical_ , is probably what Seung-gil wants to say, but Otabek knows perfectly well that he would never say that out loud — it’s far too personal, especially with the cameras around.

“Maybe,” he agrees stiffly. They stare at each other for another long moment, until, finally, Seung-gil stands up. “Some people try to make their own lives easier.”

“I have no interest in an easy life,” Otabek responds, sinking farther into the couch as Seung-gil wanders away. Mila jerks an eyebrow up at him, and he knows there’ll be hell to pay later, but, right now, he doesn’t care.

***

“Do you mind pouring me a glass, too?” Viktor asks. He _thinks_ it’s a pretty innocuous question, but Yuuri jumps violently, nearly dropping the full bottle of white wine he’s holding. As it is, some wine sloshes out and down his hand. Viktor grabs his pocket square and extends it towards him, but Yuuri just stares at it blankly.

“Um,” Yuuri just says slowly, looking up from Viktor’s hand to his face. Even if Viktor hadn’t been watching the progression from a distance the entire day, Yuuri’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks would’ve told him that Yuuri is very, very drunk.

“I’m sorry.” He gently takes the bottle from Yuuri and sets it back into the table. He starts to inch around so that there aren’t still stacks of wine bottles between them. Yuuri is still giving him that deer in the headlights look, but for once he isn’t bolting away the second Viktor gets within ten feet of him, which is a welcome change.

It might be a little bit in the realm of manipulative to come over here when Yuuri is drunk like this, but Viktor has been going _crazy_ not talking to him. A million theories have been swirling around his brain for Yuuri’s behavior, each one more damning than the last. The one he keeps coming back to is the fact that Yuuri must be able to _clearly_ tell that Viktor has a crush on him. Viktor understands why he would run in the opposite direction — Viktor’s reputation has never been worse, out there in _actual_ reality. He can’t see why anyone — especially someone _decent_ and _normal_ like Yuuri — would have any interest in dating him. Fame and wealth can’t make up for everything.

Who _wouldn’t_ want Otabek over him?

He’s started so many new songs, just thinking about Yuuri. He already had a few other songs written before the show, but they’re all bitter and angry. These new songs — well, they mean something to him. And they’re anything _but_ angry.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor repeats, not much more than a foot away from Yuuri now. “I’m sorry if I did anything to make you uncomfortable. Um, well—”

Yuuri reaches up suddenly, his hand hovering just a few inches from Viktor’s face. Viktor can almost imagine the warmth of his skin, and all he wants is to sigh and lean into his touch. He knows what people have called him over the years — especially recently.

A man-killer and a man-whore.

But he’s never felt like this before — tightly coiled and ready to break, just from holding back from Yuuri.

“Your eyes,” Yuuri says.

_Your eyes_ , Viktor almost says back. He’s always liked blue-eyed guys, but now he thinks he could write a thousand songs dedicated to nothing but brown eyes.

Yuuri’s hand finally touches him, fingers lightly brushing over his face. Viktor goes stiff for a second, but then he relaxes just enough to let himself lean into him. “Your eyes,” Yuuri sighs again. “They’re a million different shades of blue… plus a million more that aren’t even discernable by the human eye.”

Viktor feels his face flame up, and he can’t decide  whether to be embarrassed or amused by Yuuri’s drunken ramblings. Before he can make up his mind, Yuuri starts leaning closer. Viktor stays completely still, brain simultaneously screaming at him that he can’t let Yuuri kiss him when Yuuri is so _drunk_ , but every instinct just wants it to happen.

For the first time.  

The _only_ time, probably.

But Yuuri pauses, just inches away from him. Before Viktor can so much as lean away, Yuuri leans forward and kisses him. His arm snakes around Viktor’s neck, holding him in place as he tries to deepen the kiss. Viktor’s body is frozen completely still, but he moves his lips almost instinctively, wanting to drink Yuuri in. He can taste the wine, he can feel Yuuri’s body slotted against him. And all he wants to do is wrap his arms tightly around him.

_He’s drunk_ , the faint but sane part of his brain screams at him, and Viktor takes an unwilling but instant step back. Yuuri’s eyes open slowly, and he looks up at Viktor through his lashes. Viktor feels every part of him seizing up again, just wanting to go back to him.  

Then Yuuri’s face turns completely red. “Oh my God,” he breathes. “Oh my _God_.” He looks down at his still-empty wine glass. He seems to vacillate for a second, then just grabs the entire bottle and bolts off.

Viktor stares after him as he makes a beeline straight for Phichit. He would almost laugh, if it weren’t for the fact that he still feels almost paralyzed.

But he can’t help but wonder.

Maybe he’s not the only one with a crush.

* * *

**Wednesday**

Leo is lying across Guang Hong’s bed as he walks back and forth from the closet to the mirror. He keeps holding articles of clothing up to himself and tilting his head. “That’s looks good” or “I like that” is the running commentary from Leo, but Guang Hong never seems to think much of his advice. When their positions are reversed, Leo _always_ listens to Guang Hong’s advice… of course, that’s probably _exactly_ why Guang Hong is ignoring him.

“So you have _no idea_ what you’re doing tomorrow?” Leo asks. He bites at his thumb nail and looks at the group date rose lying on his bedside table to try to calm himself down. He’s _safe_ this week — he should just be relaxing. But ever since Guang Hong started running around getting ready for tomorrow, he’s felt his stomach twisted up in knots.

Guang Hong strips off his shirt and yanks on a white button-down. Leo starts to examine the hotel comforter, and only looks up when Guang Hong is all buttoned. Instead of being laser-focused on the mirror like he has been, Guang Hong is staring straight at him.

“No idea,” he finally says. “I have to wear swim trunks, though, so… maybe the ocean?” He turns around and rummages around in his open suitcase for a minute. Leo looks away for a second, and then is promptly pelted in the face with Guang Hong’s familiar hot pink swim trunks. He shoves them aside to Guang Hong’s uproarious laughter.

Leo stares at the comforter again when Guang Hong is down to his boxers and starts putting on a pair of charcoal pants.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Guang Hong asks. His voice is light, but Leo knows he’s serious. And he knows he deserves the question; taciturn is usually the _last_ word he would use to describe himself, but that’s what he’s been all day today.

It started after breakfast when Guang Hong asked what was wrong with Yuri. Leo hadn’t noticed anything, but Guang Hong left and didn’t come back until an hour later with far more details from Phichit: Otabek and Yuri possibly on the _rocks_ — like, really, seriously, maybe _done_. Leo can’t help but wonder what else he’s been missing.

But the real problem is this whole one-on-one. Guang Hong is belting his pants, looking like a million dollars without even a jacket on, and Leo’s got a feeling in the pit of his stomach that Otabek is gonna fall head over heels tomorrow.

And who can _blame_ him? Yuri’s got nothing on Guang Hong. Hell, Leo knows that he himself has got nothing on Guang Hong. _No one_ does.  

“Um,” Leo says, “do you think you’re going to, like, I mean, _kiss_ Otabek tomorrow?”

Guang Hong’s face turns red. “Is that a euphemism?”

Now _Leo_ is the one to blush furiously, and he scrambles up in bed. “ _No_ ,” he exclaims. “Like, just _kissing_ , God.”

“Oh.” Guang Hong turns around and grabs a jacket — a nice, medium pink. He slips it on, and by the time he turns around, his face is more the color of the jacket than completely red. Something twists Leo up again — seeing Guang Hong standing there like that, looking like he’s going out for a first-class date. And he _is_. Tomorrow. Being whisked away somewhere _magical_.

And all Leo got to do was squish grapes with his feet and manage to pull one short conversation out of Otabek. A bunch of nothing, but he still got a group date rose for it. Guang Hong is in a different class entirely. No wonder production keeps putting him on _special_ dates. There’s probably a million men out there _watching_ the show just hoping Guang Hong doesn’t get picked, just so they can try messaging him on Twitter.

“I mean…” Guang Hong finally answers. “I mean, I don’t see why not.”

He says it so casually that it has Leo asking, “Have you _already_?”

“No, but _you_ have.” He says it more sharply than he normally does, even with the faint blush on his face.

Leo knows that he’s being told to back off, but he can’t help but ask, “Will you tell me? Tomorrow?”

“Why?”

Leo wracks his brain to think of an answer. He doesn’t even know why _he_ cares so much. “Because, I mean, we’re competing for the same guy, right?” He tries to laugh it off, but he knows that — for once — he isn’t being completely honest. But _he_ even doesn’t know why. He just knows that he _needs_ to know whether or not Guang Hong is as many million miles above him as it seems; currently, Leo only has one thing on him, and it’s that kiss — that weeks ago kiss, with no tongue.

Leo’s never even seen Guang Hong and Otabek together — he wasn’t on the first group date, and Guang Hong hasn’t been on any group date since then. For all Leo knows, Otabek and Guang Hong are just as close, as, well, _he_ and Guang Hong.

And he doesn’t like the thought of that at all.

Guang Hong gives a laugh and hangs up the jacket. Leo tries to get a good look at his face, but Guang Hong is already facing the other way. “I need a shower,” he says, not pausing even long enough for Leo to give a word of acknowledgement before he goes into the bathroom. Leo hears the lock give a decisive _click._

He lays face down again, burying his face in the comforter.

* * *

**Thursday**

Guang Hong, like most people, has never taken a helicopter ride before. But the helicopter shows up, and he gives the required amount of enthusiasm at seeing it — after all, this happens several times a season, and he knows the score. The enthusiasm isn’t all fake, after all — he knows this is the first helicopter ride of the season, and he’s glad it’s for him.

They’re told the ride will last about two hours. Despite Otabek not talking much, Guang Hong makes enough sparse conversation to keep Sara from killing them, and that leaves him enough time to stare out the window. To his surprise, they head straight north instead of straight west to the ocean like he’d expected.

Hiking is his main guess, especially when they start flying over national forests that he doesn’t know the name of. But he and Otabek are both clad in the instructed swimsuits, so he knows that probably isn’t right. He hazards a few guesses to Otabek, who doesn’t seem to particularly care about solving the mystery.

He’s glad for the scenery, and he wishes Otabek were more of a conversationalist, for no other reason than the fact that two hours gives him far too much time to think about Leo.

He considers himself to be good at compartmentalization, so this probably wouldn’t be much of a problem if it weren’t for the fact that Leo’s question about kissing Otabek is still echoing in his brain. Even though Guang Hong had been more than resolved to kiss Otabek on their date  — when the cameras are front and center — he still hasn’t gotten over Leo asking him that. And solely because of _how_ Leo had asked.

Like a jealous boyfriend.  

He has to keep shoving the thought out of his head. _Leo isn’t into you,_ he keeps reminding himself. _You’re into **him**. He only asked because he’s in love with Otabek. If he’s jealous, it’s because of Otabek. _

He finds himself sighing a few too many times, but by the time about an hour and a half has passed, he feels nearly back to normal.

“Lake McCloud,” the pilot says, but the helicopter just keeps going. _Swimming?_ Guang Hong wonders, knowing that would be a bit anticlimactic after such a long trip. “McCloud River,” the pilot announces just a couple minutes later. And they more or less follow the winding river below, which is often obscured by trees. Guang Hong has all but given up on his guesses when they start their descent.

Guang Hong feels a little shaky when he hops of the helicopter, only taking Otabek’s proffered hand because the cameras are all around them again. Minako and Emil are standing a few feet away, whispering to each other.

“Welcome to the McCloud Falls,” Emil says, after striding forward. He’s clad in a flannel, jeans, and hiking boots. “It’s a good day for a hike, isn’t it? And an even better day for _cliff diving_.”

Guang Hong can’t help but grin at that, even after he looks up to see Otabek’s expressionless face. Adrenaline and adventure is exactly what he needs right now. And it’s exactly why he came on the show in the first place.

The hike is more of a casual walk along a well cut-out path. They follow Emil, who is far enough in front of them to be out of the camera’s reach. The trip takes longer than it should, only because they have to pause fairly often for the cameras to get shots anytime the scenery is particularly beautiful. Guang Hong knows that Phichit and his camera would have a field day with this date.

They finally break through the evergreens to the falls. “Middle Falls,” Emil announces, but Guang Hong barely hears him. The falls are _beautiful._ Sure, not the most impressive he’s ever seen — having gone on a hike to Bridal Veil Falls, not far out of Seattle, last year with one of his more adventurous work friends — but after nearly a week going nowhere except a hotel suite and a fitness room, nothing has ever look more appealing.

“Is that it?” Otabek asks, pointing to cutout on the same level as the top of the falls, probably around forty feet up.

“Must be,” Guang Hong responds with a grin. It isn’t until that moment that he realizes that Otabek doesn’t look quite like his normal emotionless self, but maybe a little nervous. Before he can think of anything to say, they’re shown the path up to the top. Guang Hong leads the way, already wondering if they’ll let him go more than once. He went cliff diving two or three years ago, with his friends and cousin in Washington, but only once and it was only about fifteen feet.

“You okay?” Guang Hong asks when they’re finally on the cliff. He has to ask it a little more loudly than usual, because the falls are ringing in his ears. He strips off his shirt, and Otabek does the same. Otabek’s quick glance over him has nothing on Leo’s stare yesterday, but he tries not to think about that.

“Is this _fun_?” Otabek asks seriously, gesturing down at the water. Down, down, _down_ at the water — it does seem quite far below them, from this angle. The cameras positioned around the swimming hole look like nothing more than black dots. “Forty feet, is, what, like a four-story building?”

Guang Hong leans over the edge, getting a good look at the water directly below them. Otabek reaches out and grabs his upper arm, even though he’s still perfectly stable. “ _I_ think it’s fun,” he says, smiling. “But I guess you could… just not do it?” he doesn’t mean for it to come off as a challenge, but considering the way Otabek’s eyebrows raise and the way a corner of his mouth turns up, he thinks that Otabek might be taking it that way.

“Fine,” Otabek says, sounding amused. He leans over to look at the water, too, but he straightens up immediately. “Let’s do it quickly.”

Guang Hong laughs. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He feels the cool stone under his feet, the light spray of water from the falls, and Otabek’s hand finally letting go of his arm. He opens his eyes back up, and Otabek is staring at him.

“Um,” Otabek says, gesturing at the water. _Let’s get this over with_ , Guang Hong can practically hear him thinking.

“Shall we go at the same time?”

Otabek nods, and they stand at the edge of the cliff. Otabek looks far from happy, but Guang Hong starts counting down, “Three, two, _one_ —”

And then he’s jumping. He thinks that Otabek jumped at the same time, but once he’s falling, the world is just him. The freefall lasts a few indeterminable seconds, every cell in his body anticipating hitting the water.

And then it’s there.

He crashes through, a little pain from the surface. The water is cold, digging at his skin like pinpricks, and it gets colder as the fall drags him deeper into the water. He’s been swimming since before he could walk, so there isn’t a second in the water that he’s scared — he’s nothing but exhilarated, and once he finally slows to a stopping point, he kicks back to the surface.

He breaks through, gasping in a grateful breath. He almost starts for the edge of the swimming hole, just so he can go back and do it again, but then Otabek breaks through. His eyes are wide, as though he’s still residually terrified. He immediately starts going for the shallows in the opposite direction of the cliff, so Guang Hong has a feeling it he isn’t planning to repeat the experience. He follows Otabek, swimming past him easily, stopping when his feet can touch the bottom. Otabek stops too, walking a couple steps further until he’s only in chest-deep water.

“That was… intense,” he says, finally starting to compose himself.

The cameras — with Minako and Emil trailing behind — have already descended upon them. Otabek looks like nothing Guang Hong has ever seen — with his carefully-styled hair hanging wet and loose around him. His eyes are still wide. He’s never looked more _human_ to Guang Hong.

And even though Guang Hong knows that the man he _really_ wants is back in a hotel room over two hundred miles away, the cameras are all over his peripheral vision and he knows that there’s never going to be another opportunity like this. He knows what show he signed up for. It’s _The Bachelor_ , not _Have Fun Falling For Another Contestant._

He grabs either side of Otabek’s face and leans forward and kisses him. If there’s one thing Guang Hong is sure of, it’s that he’s good at _this_ aspect of relationships. He wraps an arm around Otabek’s neck and deepens the kiss. Otabek still seems a little shell-shocked — whether from the extreme sport or the kiss, he isn’t sure — so Guang Hong doesn’t push it too far. He pulls back, smiling at Otabek even as he blushes.

He tries not to think too hard about how steady his heart beat is, especially compared to what it was doing from a single _look_ from Leo last night. 

“Can we do that again?” Guang Hong asks, gesturing up at the cliff.

“ _No_ ,” Otabek and Minako exclaim simultaneously.

* * *

**Friday**

This is the first rose ceremony that Yuri hasn’t been _certain_.

He tells himself that Otabek wouldn’t eliminate him over one fight, but he has to admit that he’s beginning to realize that he doesn’t actually know Otabek. Not _really._ Sure, he knows how Otabek reacts when things are good or boring or even tedious. But he doesn’t know how he might react to Yuri flying off the handle.

Maybe Otabek is the kind of guy who runs when things get tough.

And Yuri isn’t the kind of guy who makes things easy.

It’s probably all these interviews that have him second-guessing himself. One hour with Mila makes it feel like Otabek might kick him out the next time he sees him — especially since Yuri was so hell-bent on avoiding him after the group date. And even if Yuri doesn’t believe that, he can’t help but _try_ to mentally prepare himself for the all the roses going to the _other_ men with him still standing there. Just a leftover.  

“Tonight’s cocktail party,” Emil announces, “will be a _pool party._ ”

Everyone pretends to look shocked and excited as they strip off their shirts — as though Sara hadn’t walked around the hotel suite two hours ago to announce this. But the laughter doesn’t seem to reach him, and he huddles in his turquoise swim trunks near the edge of the hotel pool. He stares at the gardens occasionally, wondering if it’s worth trying to sneak away.

Otabek shows up, shirtless already and in plain black swim trunks. Yuri bites his lip hard, trying to stop the instant wave of lust in its tracks. He’s never actually seen Otabek shirtless before — the couple times they’ve managed to get heated, they stayed fully clothed. Though Yuri _has_ felt that skin under his hands before. He tries not to think too hard about Otabek straddling him, shivering at Yuri’s touch.

He groans. _Is this just a competition to you?_ that asshole had asked him. He buries his face into his knees.

All the other men are making the expected _ooooh_ noises for the cameras, and Yuri feels the usual flash of possessiveness. Maybe this will happen more and more, assuming he even gets to stick around another week — the chipping away at the things that made their relationship _special_. Maybe he’ll just be a normal contestant, vying for the hand of a man who’s just here for personal gain. All the emotion will be gone, and maybe it’ll become just a competition.

Just like Otabek thinks.

When Yuri looks up, Otabek is staring at him, mouth twisting into a frown. Yuri can’t help but scowl in response, dipping over the edge into the pool. Normally he would _never_ allow his hair to touch chlorine, but he can’t look at Otabek for a second longer.

***

Guang Hong leans with his back against the edge of the pool, looking around. Yuri moved to one of the reclining chairs, looking like a bystander who somehow managed to not get kicked out when the cameras invaded. Phichit and Yuuri are locked into a battle of who can shove the other under water on the opposite end of the pool, while Viktor chats with Chris. JJ is off with Otabek, and Seung-gil is at the bar.

Leo, of course, is sitting on the edge of the pool, right next to him. He managed to stick his legs in the pool with only minimal apparent discomfort. But he seems to prefer to stay glued to Guang Hong’s side — in fact, his knee is touching Guang Hong’s side.

“You never told me how your date went last night,” Leo comments. “You could’ve woken me up, you know.”

Guang Hong looks back at him, but Leo looks strangely casual. His knee presses harder into Guang Hong’s side, and he laughs a little. “It was good. Cliff diving.” He raises his eyebrows at Leo, who gives exactly the horrorstruck look he was expecting. “ _Forty feet_.” He’s playing it up a little, but he’s just glad the conversation doesn’t seem to be going the same way as the one they had before the date.

“That sounds like… a nightmare.”

Guang Hong laughs again, facing back around to the pool. Phichit is clambering up on Yuuri’s shoulders — or trying to, anyway. Viktor is laughing harder than Guang Hong has ever seen him.

“I could’ve done it a thousand more times,” Guang Hong says. He closes his eyes and wishes he was back there. Sure, he isn’t exactly suffering here, but the adrenaline that he’d felt then was something he wishes he could replicate right now.   

“You got the rose.”

Guang Hong nods, not really caring if Leo can see or not. He neglects to mention that at this stage in the show, not getting a one-on-one rose means an automatic elimination.

Leo leans forward, wrapping both of his arms around Guang Hong’s shoulders. Guang Hong completely freezes, feeling Leo’s chin against the top of his head. “We’re _awesome_ , you know,” Leo says. And Guang Hong is so caught up in that phrase — _we’re awesome —_ that he doesn’t even try to comprehend what Leo might be talking about. It makes them sound so much like a _unit_ , an entity. And with Leo’s strong, bare arms around him, he’s never felt quite so much like a _we_.

“We’re _both_ safe this week,” Leo adds.

“Yep.” He tries to sound enthusiastic, but his throat is too dry for anything but one monotone syllable.

Leo stays like that for a minute — and then another minute. Guang Hong knows his face is completely red, but it isn’t until he glances up and sees Yuri staring at him that he can bear the thought of untangling himself from Leo. He wishes he could just curl up here all night.

But, instead, he jolts forward; sure enough, Leo gasps and immediately lets go. “Don’t _scare_ me like that!” Leo exclaims, and Guang Hong just gives him an unrepentant smile as he climbs out of the pool.

“I’m getting something to drink.”

Normally, Leo would probably hop up and come along, but he still has a hand over his chest as though he needs to recover. Guang Hong bolts off before he gets distracted by the sight of Leo’s _very_ bare and _very_ defined chest.

“Bourbon, neat,” he says to the bartender. She nods at him and pours it for him. He glances back at the pool and adds, “And a glass of champagne.” One of her blonde eyebrows twitches, but she fulfills his second request without a word.

He steadfastly doesn’t look at Leo as he walks straight to Yuri, holding the champagne out for him.

Yuri raises his eyebrows and asks sharply, “Do you make it a point to know everyone’s order?”

Guang Hong just shrugs, taking a drink of his bourbon. After only another second, Yuri snatches the glass away. Guang Hong can’t be sure, but it seems like the alcohol calms Yuri down. He sinks further into the chair and takes a long drink.

“One stupid drink isn’t enough to make me forget that you’re into Leo, you know,” he mutters, looking up at Guang Hong with those intense green eyes.

Guang Hong puts all his effort into not flushing at being found out. He somehow manages it, even as he holds Yuri’s gaze for several more seconds. “I just wanted you to have a drink,” Guang Hong finally says softly, and then turns and walks back to the bar, draining his glass on the way.  

***

Mila tells Phichit it’s his turn, and Yuuri slinks back a few feet in the pool as Phichit hoists himself out gracefully. He grabs one of the white hotel towels and runs it through his hair, leaving it in artful disarray. It’s a far cry from his usual style — without a hair out of place — but it looks so natural that Yuuri is surprised that he’s never seen it like this before now. Phichit drapes the towel around his shoulders and gives Yuuri a friendly wave. Then, just like that, he’s running off to talk to Otabek in the hot tub. It only takes a few seconds before Yuuri can hear his laugh reverberating.

Then someone splashes water on him.

He turns around, surprised, and looks straight at a laughing Viktor, who’s squatting by the edge of the pool, shaking the water off his hand.

The shock should be wearing off by now. He knows that, but it’s still there — that jolt somewhere deep in the core of him. Whether it’s because it’s _Viktor_ or because Viktor is _laughing_ , he isn’t sure. He wishes that the novelty would have worn off by now — but Viktor is still _the_ Viktor. The very same man he saw on tour three times.

Sometimes he wonders if maybe the novelty _has_ worn off, and this feeling is a new one, for an entirely different reason.

He knows he talked to Viktor on Tuesday, at the cocktail party for the group date. He _knows_ that, but the entire night is a little fuzzy. He avoided Viktor all day — which he feels a little guilty about — but he _thinks_ they made up sometime that night. At least, Viktor seems back to normal, and Yuuri knows he should be too. So he splashes water back at Viktor, who laughs again.

Viktor slides into the pool. Yuuri’s instincts tell him to look around, to see who might be around to help diffuse the situation when he — surely — makes it awkward in about five seconds. But Viktor’s blue eyes are more hypnotic than ever. And for once the memory of Viktor maybe writing a song about him doesn’t seem _quite_ so impossible. Or unwelcome.

Yuuri suddenly isn’t quite sure if he’s ever seen that look in Viktor’s eyes before, but he tries to tell himself that he’s just imagining seeing raw affection there.

For all that he denied it to Phichit, he _does_ like Viktor.

Time seems to stand still for an indeterminable minute. The air rushes out of his lungs in a sigh, his chest goes tight, and his eyes go wide. All in the span of time it takes Viktor to take just a step towards him.

“Written any songs lately?” Yuuri asks. It comes out before he can even consider it, and it sounds far too earnest. Desperate, almost. Viktor stops dead, then, the tables instantly turned.

_I’m right_ , Yuuri thinks. _I’m right_.

But Viktor is better at being shocked than Yuuri is; he absorbs it almost immediately and then he’s climbing onto Yuuri’s back. Yuuri can’t help but let out a laugh as he tries to keep his footing. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s in shoulder-deep water, he would’ve fallen, considering Viktor has a few inches and quite a few pounds on him. But the water keeps him stable, and Viktor’s hands are on his shoulders, trying to pull himself up.

He and Phichit had been doing much the same thing just a half-hour ago, but it certainly didn’t make his heart race like this.

“You _know_ I have,” Viktor says quietly to Yuuri.

Yuuri feels his face flush, so he does the most logical thing — and lets himself fall into the water. Viktor slips away and Yuuri turns as he comes back up for air. Viktor is laughing again as he pushes his dripping hair back from his face — his normally metallic hair, looking charcoal grey when it’s wet like this.

“Do you want a drink?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor nods, smiling at him. “Vodka on the rocks.”

Yuuri doesn’t _quite_ know what to make of all this, but — for once — he doesn’t seem to mind.

***

A pool party isn’t a novel idea.

And Yuri really would’ve preferred to never have seen JJ’s tramp stamp.

For once, JJ avoids him, floating between each uninterested companion. And Yuri surveys the whole scene, rolling his eyes constantly. Each time Guang Hong looks at Leo with that blush, when the producers pull everyone but him to talk to Otabek, when all the men admire each other’s tattoos. Of course, no one gets close enough to him to comment on his snow leopard tattoo sleeve. But Leo has Olympic rings — _like Otabek’s_ , Phichit exclaims, and Yuri tries not to groan, just thinking about the fact that Phichit has seen Otabek’s skin up close and personal in a way that Yuri hasn’t.

He likes to think that he wouldn’t be jealous like this — at least, not over silly things like people seeing Otabek shirtless — if it weren’t for the fact that he’s all but quarantined over here. He’s sure the cameras are getting a million great shots of him here, alone, barking at any visitors that try to come over and talk with him.

And he’s going to be edited in, like a fucking psychopath. _Good for Otabek_ , America will say, raising their fucking glasses, when Yuri gets eliminated.

Suddenly resolved, he sets down his empty champagne glass a little too hard on the glass table next to him. Then he stands and starts striding towards Otabek.

After all, he never goes down without a fight.

And even though he’s no longer one hundred percent sure if Otabek is worth fighting _for_ or _against_ , he knows he has to try.

***

Otabek sees him coming.

The determined set of his face, the narrowed eyes, the high ponytail a streak of yellow behind him. Yuri, as always, full of nothing but action — all day Otabek has felt the defiance from him. Even though Otabek hasn’t pursued him, he hasn’t missed any of the dirty looks thrown his way — thousands of little jabs, more than enough to sting, and just enough to tell him that there’s worse coming.

Otabek has wanted, a thousand times, to go over and talk to Yuri.

But, unlike Yuri, he’s nothing but _in_ action.

He sees Yuri coming over, looking _unbelievable_ in his turquoise swim trunks. He can see a tattoo on Yuri’s shoulder — which he’s seen glimpses of, but never in its entirety — and he wishes he could examine every inch of it. So it’s all Otabek can do to not just freeze and let him come over. He knows he deserves the onslaught, and he’d be more than willing to weather every storm if it might mean that Yuri would stop looking at him with disgust.

He turns, feeling almost frantic, towards Mila. He slips away from his cluster of chairs and bolts in the opposite direction. He wants to glance back, knowing that he’s twisting the knife he already plunged into Yuri days ago, but he can’t bring himself to. There’s nothing he can do — and he can’t go through with what he needs to do if he talks to Yuri. He would do nothing but melt in the face of Yuri’s burning rage.

“I’ve got this,” Mila says as she walks past him, a smirk already forming on her face.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, shutting his eyes tightly. When he opens them again, he sees Minako slinking around the perimeter, and when she meets his gaze, she gives him a wide grin.

He hates that she probably intends it to be conspiratorial.

***

Yuuri has just finished tying his tie when Phichit unceremoniously reaches forward and yanks it off.

“What—?” Yuuri starts to ask, but Phichit just musses his hair just a little and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. He tugs once at the collar before taking a step back. It all happens so quickly that Yuuri finally has the presence of mind to take in a breath.

“Viktor hates that tie,” Phichit says, apparently by way of explanation, and tosses it over his shoulder.

“How do you know— Wait, I mean, what’s wrong with this— Wait, _what_?” He knows that he must be making no sense — he can’t even understand _himself_. But he’s completely frantic, the edge only taken off when he looks in the mirror and sees that he does, admittedly, look pretty good. He doesn’t know if he’s really pulling off the magazine chic look when he normally goes for more of a businessman look, but it doesn’t look _completely_ laughable. He thinks.

“ _Viktor_ doesn’t like that _tie_ — I could tell from how he looked at it. But don’t worry, darling, I worked my magic.” Phichit runs a hand over his own hair as he starts walking towards the door of their hotel room.

“ONE MINUTE,” Sara calls from the living room area of the suite. Just judging from the noise level from outside their closed door, most people are already out there. Phichit, of course, doesn’t look at all concerned about the time limit being imposed on them. Though, Yuuri supposes, Phichit is really just primping and could walk outside any second, if it weren’t for his predisposition towards (mostly) harmless defiance.

“I don’t care what Viktor thinks,” Yuuri responds. He says it just to say it; he says it because it _should_ be the truth.

Phichit’s mega-watt grin and then: “O _kay_ ,” sounding like nothing but amused placation. He laughs a little under his breath, then adds, “I mean, I’d care at least a _little_ about a guy I _made out_ with.”

“Um, yeah,” Yuuri agrees, finding it to be a weird statement, but not one that he thinks very hard about. He leans closer to the mirror, wondering how much he can fix his hair in thirty seconds. But as he reaches up to brush a couple strands back from his forehead, he freezes. He catches Phichit’s smile in the mirror, and his eyebrows raise a millimeter every second that Yuuri just stares back at him.

“Do you, um, by chance — not… remember?” Phichit asks, tilting his head.

“Wait, _what_?” he gasps, both hands going to cover his mouth as he spins around.

“NOW,” Sara yells from outside, but Yuuri barely hears her.

He closes the gap between them, grabbing Phichit’s wrist. “I — I — goddammit, Phichit, what did I _do_?”

“Like… pretty much attacked his face with _your_ face, when you were about nine glasses of wine deep. Ish. I mean, I really lost count.” He shrugs.

“ _I_ _kissed him_?” He tries to get his brain to focus enough to try to figure out if Phichit is telling the truth, but his brain is a little too busy trying to make any of this make any sense: He, Yuuri Katsuki, kissed _him_ , Viktor Nikiforov, his crush since he was about thirteen and — oh, you know — the _biggest pop star in the world_.

Phichit nods at him, a smile spreading across his face. He meanders across the room, leaning against the still-closed door. “I thought someone might have to pry you two apart, but Viktor backed off after like thirty seconds. Probably just because you were, like, completely shitfaced.”

Sara calls for them again, sounding closer to their door this time. He takes a deep breath, telling himself that Viktor isn’t just _the_ Viktor. Maybe Viktor is starting to be… just _Viktor_.

And, if all this is true… well, Viktor seemed happier than ever today.

Yuuri feels his face flame up. “You’re serious?” he asks, voice barely louder than a breath.

Phichit just nods at him, grinning.

The door suddenly opens, and Phichit nearly topples out flat on his back, but he manages just to stumble. “Jesus _Christ_ ,” Sara snaps at them. “What part of _rose ceremony_ is irrelevant to you?” But Yuuri catches Viktor’s eye and gives him a tentative smile, blushing even more furiously, only to be rewarded with Viktor’s face turning pink as well.

Phichit laughs as they trail behind the group. He links their arms together, giggling like a schoolgirl as soon as Viktor looks away from Yuuri. “For the record, I think it’s _mutual_ ,” Phichit whispers in his ear, and then drags him nearer to the rest of the group. They end up in a ballroom, Minako disappearing the second they walk through the doors.

Sara gestures them to the platform and they all file in. Guang Hong and Leo stand on the platform at the very end. Leo leans and whispers something to Guang Hong, who laughs; their roses are already pinned to their lapels, and it couldn’t be more obvious that they have nothing to worry about.

JJ and Chris go to stand next to Leo, and then Seung-gil, Viktor, and Yuri stand in front. Phichit hops onto the last place on the platform and Yuuri takes the last place up in the front. He tries looking at Viktor, but Yuri towers over both of them, completely blocking the view. Yuuri considers for half a second careening over just to get a good look at Viktor, but he hasn’t _completely_ lost the use of his mental faculties. Especially with the cameras milling around like that.

He isn’t really nervous for the rose ceremony himself; he’s long lost any misconception that Otabek might be romantically interested in him, and he isn’t going to pretend that Otabek’s disinterest is anything other than completely mutual. But he still doesn’t want to get eliminated so _early_. Especially since this _does_ decide whether or not he gets to stick around for another week.

Maybe that will be enough time to give his brain some time to catch up.

Emil finally walks out, Otabek in tow. Yuuri doesn’t really listen as Emil starts talking — the normal stuff about the week being _magical_ , and _love blossoming_. Some puns using the word _intoxicating_. But Yuuri just takes a step back, trying to see if he can get a good look at Viktor from that angle. Phichit pokes him hard between his shoulder blades, so Yuuri straightens up and inches forward until he’s back in line. He barely catches a sidelong glare from Yuri before Otabek starts talking, so Yuri’s head snaps back to the front.

“This week has been… long,” Otabek says, with a small shrug of his shoulders. He gets a few quiet chuckles from that, but one glance at Yuri’s face shows that he’s deadly serious and hyper-focused. “I’ve gotten to know some of you better… I guess that, yes, some things have been particularly enlightening. Part of me wishes that I could do this week all over again, but here we are.” Yuri looks down at his shoes, and Yuuri certainly isn’t imagining the way he’s wincing.

Otabek sighs as he picks up the first rose. “Yuuri K,” he says almost immediately. Yuri had looked up, then immediately frowned at the last initial. Yuuri is so interested in whatever is going on _next to him_ — apparently those rumors Phichit has been telling him are _very_ true — that it takes him a full second to realize that his name was called. And called _first_. He can’t help but smile as he walks forward.

“Will you accept this rose?” Otabek asks.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, and Otabek slides the rose in place. He gives him a grin and then turns back around to walk back to his place. He almost stumbles, just at the sight of the glare Yuri fixes him with. But he makes it back and sighs, relieved to be around another week.

“Nice,” Phichit whispers in his ear.

He looks down at his rose with a grin, unable to stop himself from thinking of it as a symbol of more time with _Viktor._

***

Otabek’s gaze goes everywhere but Yuri, as though he’s nothing but an empty space among all the other men. Even though Yuri can’t help but suspect that Otabek’s little speech was directed right at him, Otabek didn’t look at him a single time. Yuri can’t help but just stare; for once, he’s nothing but powerless, and those first two weeks of bliss that they’d had are starting to seem more and more like a dream that only _he_ had experienced.

He balls his hands into fists, clenches his teeth together, and forces every other muscle in his body into a tight coil. There’s never been torture like this. He’s preemptively telling himself that doesn’t _care_ — that Otabek won’t even enter into the very _long_ catalogue of his ex-boyfriends. Otabek doesn’t _really_ count, after all.

If this isn’t real to Otabek, then it’s sure as fuck not real to _him_.

He tells himself that even more furiously, standing here bleeding from Otabek calling out the _other_ Yuuri’s name first. _His_ name on Otabek’s lips, but it doesn’t mean anything at all. Just another man more suited to Otabek than himself.

“JJ,” Otabek says, and Yuri feels himself frowning all over again. He certainly doesn’t want to rank below _JJ_ , of all people. So he glares as JJ saunters forward, giving a laughing, cocky, “As always,” to Otabek’s question, and a wide smirk as he makes his way back to his place on the stand.

Yuri takes a deep breath and gives himself the most minor of reassurances by looking at the remaining four roses still sitting on the plate. Otabek picks one up, and — once again — makes eye contact with every single one of them except for him. “Viktor,” he says.

_No surprise there_ , Yuri tells himself, _it isn’t like the producers would let him get rid of Viktor yet._ But that doesn’t stop him from trying to glare a hole through the hardwood floor.

He only looks back up when Viktor is back by his side. To his shock, Otabek is looking straight at him. Yuri’s mouth pops open and he shakes a little, wanting to take a step towards him. But Otabek immediately looks down at the roses, picking one up with unnecessary slowness. Yuri can feel his pulse reverberate through his body. He can’t help but try to glean some meaning from that split-second of eye contact, but Otabek’s face was no more expressive than a black hole.

“Chris,” Otabek says next, and Yuri is shocked. He’s been banking on Chris being an easy elimination one of these weeks, but now Chris is walking forward with a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Yuri scans his fellow competitors. Only he, Phichit, and Seung-gil are left. Phichit notices him and gives him a half-smile in response, which makes Yuri’s stomach twist up in knots; even that fucking Phichit knows that Yuri is on the chopping block this week. And perfect, _boring_ Phichit will never be anything but a safe choice.

And sure enough, the next name out of Otabek’s mouth is Phichit’s. Yuri no longer even bothers with trying to censor his expression; he’s too torn up inside to be able to worry about what his face looks like. He can’t look anywhere but Otabek. He tries to tell himself that it’s an _easy_ choice between himself and Seung-gil.

But nothing tonight has been even the tiniest bit reassuring.

So he just stands there, trying not to think, as the cameras move around and then reset themselves back to the sides. He’s certain that one is fixed on him, but he doesn’t look away as Otabek finally picks up that last rose. Otabek looks straight ahead, at no one, and then, finally: “Yuri.”

Yuri exhales, taking a shaky step forward. When no figurative sirens go off, he walks the rest of the way, feeling lighter with every step. When he gets close enough, he can tell that Otabek looks hesitant, maybe even apprehensive. He’s extending the rose a few inches in front of him, and when Yuri pauses, he says, “Will you—”

But then Yuri throws his arms around him, pulling Otabek into a crushing hug.

For a second, Otabek freezes, but then he relaxes and hugs Yuri back. “I’m sorry,” he whispers directly into Yuri’s ear. And Yuri can’t help but be thrilled, for one floating second, that they’re instantly back to their secretive, solitary world. “They made me, we can talk about it later.”

Yuri kisses Otabek’s hair lightly and then pulls back, pleased and relieved at the pink coloring Otabek’s cheeks. His brown eyes are soft and warm. Maybe in two minutes or two hours Yuri will find it in himself to be angry about this, but for now the only thing that he can think about is the fact that Otabek _does_ still want him. And for all the lies that Yuri told himself, he’s never stopped wanting Otabek, even for a second.

Then Emil clears his throat

“Oh, um, yes,” Yuri finally says, in response to the only half-asked question.

Otabek grins as though he’d forgotten it himself. And then he reaches forward and pins the rose to Yuri’s jacket. Otabek’s hands linger a little, and there’s a smile playing at his lips for a second until his gaze flickers back to the crowd and then he’s immediately back to his normal, stoic self.

Yuri turns around and walks back to the crowd, unable to stop himself from grinning.

* * *

**Saturday**

Guang Hong isn’t sure why he feels uneasy.

He picks up a picks up a bottle of water, the only thing left on the long food table. It’s a solid block of wood, shoved off to the side of their living area, as though that will make it less conspicuous. It ruins the flow of the room, with the rest of the furniture shoved just a _little_ too close together to accommodate it.

It doesn’t really make a difference now, in the middle of the night. There’s no one in sight — even the omnipresent P.A. is nowhere near their usual station by the door. Guang Hong is half-tempted to peek outside, but he has a sneaking suspicion that there’s definitely someone out there. Not to mention that there can’t be too much to see at 3am at an upscale hotel.

He woke up about an hour ago and hasn’t been able to fall back asleep. Even Leo’s rhythmic breathing from across the room hadn’t helped. So here he is, drinking a bottle of water and meandering aimlessly around the room. He tries to ignore the far-off sounds from outside the hotel door, the steady hum of the air conditioning, and the wind rattling the windows. His steps are so quiet he can’t even hear them, but he listens hard, just trying to center himself.

If he were in this position back home in Seattle, he’d just pack up and go to the gym. He could exercise away this vague, creeping paranoia — or, at least, forget about it by the time daylight hit. But he’s sure that would be against roughly a hundred rules on this show, not to mention the fact that he certainly doesn’t have a room key.

He sighs.

Then someone touches his shoulder.

He reacts immediately. His instincts and years of training kicking in before he can even think. It’s dark. He’s in danger.

There’s only one thing to do.

He reaches back and grabs the wrist of whoever touched him. He yanks, hard enough to send that person flying until their back slams into the wall. Guang Hong hears the grunt of pain. He reaches for his pocket where his knife usually is, but then he realizes he’s still on this _show_ and doesn’t have a single weapon. Just an instant later, he has his left forearm locked on the man’s neck.

And it’s only then that he realizes what’s happened.

Because he’s staring straight into _very_ familiar brown eyes, blown wide in shock and horror.

_Leo_.

Guang Hong freezes, unable to move a muscle. “Um?” Leo chokes out, reaching up, tugging lightly on Guang Hong’s arm, and Guang Hong feels himself lower just an inch at the motion. Leo still looks just as shocked, but — for some reason — more confused than angry, like Guang Hong would expect.

“Oh my God,” Guang Hong hears himself saying. Then, suddenly, he drops his arm and takes a step back. “Oh my _God_ ,” he repeats.

Leo is standing there, face a little red, rubbing his neck. His expression has shifted into not much more than curiosity, and he tilts his head as he says, “Um… so… like… that was _weird_?”

“Fuck,” Guang Hong says, barely even hearing Leo. He rubs his hand against his forehead. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

“I’m fine,” Leo says, a little louder, and Guang Hong looks up at him. Leo’s hands are hovering a couple inches away from him, like he’s too scared to touch him — as he _should_ be, Guang Hong furiously reminds himself. “Really, um, _I’m_ fine… but, like, are _you?_ ”

Guang Hong feels his mouth drop open, looking at the man he would’ve just pulled a knife on if he’d had one.

The man he _loves_.

Leo, as kind and trusting and spacey as they come. Leo, concerned only for him, with absolutely no idea of what might have just happened.

And Guang Hong takes one look at the unguarded door and bolts for it. He hears Leo calling his name, but he just throws the door opens and sprints down the hallway. There _was_ someone stationed at the door, but Guang Hong doesn’t look back. And no one follows him.

***

Leo didn’t realize that he even managed to fall asleep until he wakes up. The first thing he does is check the other bed in the room, but it’s still mussed in exactly the same way it was at 3am — and, even worse, it’s still damningly empty.

He curls himself up into a tight ball and groans into his pillow.

He tries to tell himself that they’re on this _show_ — Guang Hong can’t have gone too far. Sure, he looked ready to run all the way back to Seattle when he had bolted out of the hotel room last night. But, as Leo keeps assuring himself, there’s no way he _left_ left.

Leo had followed him into the hallway, of course, but he didn’t get more than a foot out the door before a P.A. had a death grip on his arm. Despite all of Leo’s protests that Guang Hong was _just as illegally_ outside of the hotel room — and way farther away, doing God knows what — the P.A. didn’t budge. And threw him unceremoniously back into the hotel room. After about an hour, Leo gave up his station in the living room and went back to their room.

It had been stupid of him, expecting Guang Hong to just walk back in here.

But he doesn’t know _what_ to think. Nothing in these last few weeks has come close to preparing him for this. He was expecting the drama to come from the producers, or maybe one of the drama-prone guys like JJ or even Phichit, or something. Not from _Guang Hong_ , who is rapidly becoming his best friend, on _or_ off the show.

At least, that’s what he thought before.

Sure, he was freaked out when Guang Hong slammed him against a wall, and even more scared when he was put in a choke hold. He’s an athlete, of course, but a _figure skater_ — not, like, a hockey player or black belt or something. Nothing in his _life_ prepared him for that.

But he trusts Guang Hong. He still does. Hell, for all he knows, maybe _he_ , himself, did something wrong. He can’t really know until he talks it out. But at this point he’s just as able to talk to a ghost as Guang Hong.

Leo meanders out into the living room, giving up on sleeping anymore. He does a quick scan of the room, but only Yuri is there, fiddling with a coffee mug. Leo didn’t even realize he was hoping to find Guang Hong out here until he feels himself deflate all over again.

He meanders over to the breakfast table, sighing as he stares at the platters and platters of pastries. He starts to reach for a plate when he glances at Yuri, seeing him toss his used spoon in the garbage. Leo gets a good look at the contents of his mug — chocolate brown with tiny floating marshmallows.

And he instantly turns towards Yuri, reaching forward to grab his arm without even thinking — even though that’s the exact thing that started this whole mess last night. “You—” he starts, ready to go straight into his accusations without even knowing what he’s trying to say, but Yuri has already turned a glare onto him. He takes a deep breath and then says, not much more politely, “That’s for _Guang Hong,_ isn’t it?”

“Can’t I drink a fucking cup of coffee without someone commenting on it? Jesus _Christ_.”

“ _That isn’t coffee_ ,” Leo finds himself nearly shouting. It isn’t _Yuri’s_ fault, not really, but Leo just doesn’t understand why he was immediately discarded for something that seems like maybe _he_ actually has the right to be mad about. Leo knows he’s fucked up plenty of times in his life, and the frustrating part is that this doesn’t even feel like it should count.

Yuri’s eyebrows arch, face showing nothing other than vague surprise by Leo’s behavior.

“He’s in there, right?” Leo asks, voice at a more acceptable volume, though it’s saturated in desperation he knows that he probably shouldn’t be showing.

“No.”

“I _know_ he is.” He doesn’t _really_ know it, but he doesn’t have a single investigative skill — and the only cop show he’s seen is _Brooklyn Nine-Nine_ — so this is all he can come up with.

“He doesn’t want to see you,” Yuri says, shrugging.

Leo doesn’t even have a second of triumph over the fact that his tactic actually produced a straight answer; instead, he just feels his mouth drop open. If he thought he was floundering before, it has nothing on the strange, disconnected way he’s feeling now. He can’t do more than gape for a full ten seconds, while Yuri smirks at him.

“I just want to talk to him,” Leo whispers.

Yuri sets the mug down hard, jabbing his finger into Leo’s chest. “Well, he doesn’t _want_ to talk to you. Or see you. Or get anywhere near you. And if I find out you did something horrible to him, you’d better fucking believe I’ll make the rest of your time on this show a living hell.”

Leo just stands there, unable to move, as Yuri whirls around, grabs the mug, and flies back into his room. The door closes with a room-shuddering _slam_.

And Leo can’t help but wonder if this is even worse than he thought.  

***

“You have to tell me _something_ ,” Yuri says, handing him a mug. Guang Hong stares as a dozen miniature marshmallows swirl around the mug, and he feels the tiniest jolt of warmth within him. He’s felt nothing but cold since last night — something he hasn’t felt since being confronted with this California heat three weeks ago. He wraps both hands around the mug and takes a sip of the hot chocolate.

“Thanks,” he says, just grateful for the gesture. He doesn’t recall ever telling Yuri that he loves hot chocolate, but he’s glad he did something right somewhere along the line.

“Guang Hong.”

He looks up as Yuri sits down on the edge of the bed, turning towards him. Those green eyes are intense, so Guang Hong looks back down at his mug. When he’d knocked on the door last night, Yuri had opened it looking ready to kill. But maybe the fact that Guang Hong immediately burst into tears made it impossible for even Yuri to turn him away. _You were right_ , Guang Hong had managed to choke out, just thinking about Yuri at the pool party just hours before — _you’re into Leo_ , Yuri had said, so matter-of-factly.

_Just get in here_ , Yuri said in response, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside. Before he knew it, he was instructed to take Seung-gil’s (recently vacated) bed, and then Yuri hadn’t said another word, just flicking off the light with a look that even Guang Hong thought was surprisingly kind.

Now, Guang Hong traces the rim of the mug with his index finger. “I sort of, um, got into it with Leo.”

“Like, he _rejected you?_ ”

Guang Hong’s eyes widen and go straight to Yuri, who just tilts his head. “No,” Guang Hong says, blushing at the thought of actually confessing to Leo. As if they’d ever get that far _now_ , even disregarding the small fact that Leo is in love with _Otabek_. “No, nothing like that. I sort of hurt him? Like, physically. But _accidentally_. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

Yuri looks vaguely annoyed, but he doesn’t press it. “You don’t seem like the type.”

His gaze flickers over Guang Hong, and Guang Hong knows he’s seeing an oversized pink sweatshirt, white shorts, and fuzzy socks — not to mention the fact that he’s short and has that _face_ that everyone mistakes for being harmless. Yes, Guang Hong is more aware than anyone what his _appearance_ is — and to be honest, he likes it, down to his freckles.

Guang Hong just shrugs. “I had a pretty fucked up childhood, I guess,” he says, intentionally vague.

And Yuri just nods, seeming satisfied with that answer. “So I guess I don’t need to kill him for you, or anything?”

“You’d do that?” Guang Hong asks, cracking a smile for the first time in hours. Then the sickening memory of pinning Leo into a wall washes over him, all over again, and then he’s back to nauseous. He takes a long drink of hot chocolate.

“Sure,” Yuri says, shrugging. He slides off the bed and goes back over to his own. He gives a sigh as he looks around the room, probably thinking about the small fact that it looks like a hurricane blew through here and they all have to be packed for an ungodly early flight tomorrow. Guang Hong doesn’t want to think about the fact that he’ll have to go back to his and Leo’s shared room at least long enough to grab his suitcase.

“Um, I’m surprised,” Guang Hong says, looking up at Yuri, who turns back to him. “That you’d let me crash in here.”

Yuri shrugs. “You’re not into Otabek — what do I care? Besides, it’s sort of… boring here, isn’t it? And it’s less boring now.”

Guang Hong gives a small smile, burying his head in his knees. “Glad to keeps things interesting for you,” he says, sighing.

***

“I need an interview,” Mila says, throwing the door of the bedroom open. Yuri looks up from where he’s sitting side-by-side on the bed with Guang Hong. They hadn’t been talking about anything important, but Guang Hong still buries his face into his knees at the interruption. Mila doesn’t spare him more than a glance; Yuri can’t help but feel uneasy as he gets up, knowing that the producers have eyes everywhere — if Guang Hong isn’t a surprise to them, he doesn’t want to know what else they’ve been seeing.

He follows her out the room after a nod back at Guang Hong. He doesn’t spare a glance at anyone in the living room until he feels Leo glaring a hole into his head. He half-turns, throwing a smirk at Leo, whose eyes widen as he scowls back. It looks better on him than his usual good-natured naiveté. Yuri just turns back around, unwilling to stop and engage with Leo only because that’ll make this interview even longer than it’s already sure to be.

He isn’t quite sure exactly what compelled him to help Guang Hong, but something about someone coming to _him_ just completely disarmed him. He’s always been the scary one, the intimidating one, the intense one. And that’s an image as carefully curated as it is innate. So being sought out for comfort isn’t something that he’s used to, especially by someone he doesn’t know particularly well. And all he could think was that Guang Hong is into _Leo_ , not Otabek, so why not?

_Why not?_ he thought, when he gave Guang Hong a place to sleep. _Why not?_ he thought, when he brought him hot chocolate. _Why not?_ he thought, when he listened to him talk about Leo.

He’s never been the most patient person, but Guang Hong is one of the least annoying people he’s encountered — _especially_ after these last couple weeks. And it’s a welcome distraction from being alone with his own thoughts.

“I hope this isn’t going to take long,” he says to Mila, just to be contrary. He’s been too nice the last few hours; it’s making him feel a bit unsettled.

She snorts, making her way through the lobby to the door to the back patio. She holds the door open for him silently, and he cautiously steps out.

Otabek is there, waiting for him.

Yuri can’t help but grin. Maybe it’s because he’s been so distracted by Guang Hong’s drama, but he’s forgotten to decide between being pissed off or forgiving. Otabek is probably expecting the former, because he steps forward cautiously.

Yuri glances back, but Mila has already disappeared. Then he looks around the patio, and there’s not a camera in sight — not to mention the fact that Yuri was never even miked today. The patio is on a hill, overlooking the vineyard that’s currently occupied by only a couple of tourists, so for once he’s very sure that they’re completely alone. He turns back to Otabek.

“Weird, isn’t it?” Otabek asks, echoing Yuri’s thoughts. When no one pops out to yell at them for not speaking English, Yuri feels himself accept that they really are alone. 

“Very,” Yuri agrees.

And then there’s silence. Yuri can’t decide if it’s awkward or just charged. It lingers somewhere in between, buzzing with a million things still unsaid from this week. And Yuri can’t decide if he should fight against his more childish nature and talk first. Before he can, though, Otabek gestures at an outdoor sofa, and they both sit down.

“Do you fly out with us tomorrow?” Yuri asks. Normally he likes to get straight to the point, especially since there’s probably a time limit ticking somewhere, but he doesn’t even know the best point of attack.  

He’s sitting with one of his feet under the other thigh, so he’s turned completely sideways on the sofa. Otabek is doing nearly the same thing, and he doesn’t seem to have any desire to break their eye contact. “No, we fly out in a few hours,” Otabek answers. “Me and the producers and Emil.”

Yuri frowns but nods. Like he’s sure Viktor also did, one of the contract stipulations he managed to force through was flying first class, so he’d hoped for maybe a few stolen conversations with Otabek. Now he’ll have no company other than _Viktor_ , who Yuri isn’t entirely convinced is anything in the realm of even decent company. Especially compared to someone like Guang Hong.

“Where are we going?” Yuri asks.

Otabek shrugs. “Somewhere tropical, I think, judging by the clothes they’ve given me to choose from. But that’s all I know. They… don’t tell me much.”

Yuri nods, looking back down at his hands. It occurs to him that Otabek is probably about to apologize, and he realizes that he doesn’t want that — not really. He’s _thought_ that he’s wanted it, for the past few days, but he wants an explanation instead of an empty apology. “Why did you say that to me?” he asks abruptly, not even giving himself the time to turn the words over in his head. With that, he looks back at Otabek.

His brown eyes look pained, and then he responds slowly, “I had an interview with Minako, and… well, I guess I sort of realized that you would be here even if there were a different bachelor. And it freaked me out. I know that you’re competitive, and suddenly… I was scared. That you’re just here to win.”

“That’s pretty fucked up, you know,” Yuri says, a little angry in spite of himself. Even though he gets _most_ of what Otabek is telling him, there’s definitely a couple details he doesn’t like. “ _You’re_ the one who _actually_ has a dozen guys to choose from right now, you know — but all that stuff about me is just theoretical.”

“I _am_ sorry I said it like that,” Otabek says softly, cringing slightly at Yuri’s words.

“I’m — well, I’m sorry for bolting, I guess.”

“And it isn’t really a choice anymore, you know. Between you and the other guys, I mean.”

And Yuri feels the last remnants of his anger go out of him.

Suddenly Otabek’s intense, smoldering look is back — that bone-melting one that Yuri is all too familiar with, from all that time alone together. Otabek reaches forward slowly and entwines his fingers with Yuri’s. “I want _you_ ,” Otabek finally adds, leaning closer to him.

Yuri feels it, again — their protective little bubble, re-forming around them. The feeling of closeness, of being a unit. This beginning of a relationship that he wants — and one that he wants more than he’s ever wanted one with anyone else, if only it weren’t buried in this quagmire of reality show hell. He squeezes Otabek’s hand. “Every day, I’m choosing to be here,” Yuri says slowly, for once deciding on every word with care. “I’m choosing _you_ , too. Okay? If I didn’t want to be with you — right now _and_ after the show — I’d _leave_. I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t do much that I don’t want to do.” He caps it with a smirk, already feeling lighter — back to his old self — especially when Otabek smiles back at him.

Then Yuri leans forward and kisses him, tugging one hand away from Otabek’s to go to his hair. His fingers run over the soft, short hairs of his undercut. The kiss softly, and Yuri feels a blush coming over him — for once it isn’t wild and passionate, but gentle and romantic.

He pulls back slowly, and then turns around, settling his back against Otabek’s chest. He stretches his legs out on the sofa, and he buries his face into the crook of Otabek’s neck. Both of Otabek’s arms go around his waist, and he can’t help but just wish that they could stay like this all day.

“So why did I get the lame, last rose at the rose ceremony, anyway?” Yuri asks suddenly. The question pales in importance now, but he still wants to _know_.

“Oh,” Otabek says, and when Yuri looks up at him, he’s flushed pink. “Well, Minako promised us a one-on-one in week six if I cooperated. I didn’t want to do it, but she threatened a date with _JJ_ if I didn’t agree. I guess she thought this was the only time the audience might believe… that I would ever get rid of you.”

Yuri can’t help but laugh at that, even as he winces a little. It’s a bit nauseating to realize how much he’s gotten used to being manipulated in service of making ‘good TV’. “Wait, why not week _five_?”

“No idea,” Otabek says with a shrug.

Yuri leans back against him, and they sit quietly for a minute. Otabek kisses the top of his head once, and then his fingers thread idly through the end of Yuri’s braid. Yuri thinks about making small talk, but just being together feels like more than enough, especially after such a terrible week.

“Honestly,” Yuri says on a whim after a few minutes, “I wasn’t even expecting to last more than two weeks. I thought I’d just come on, coast on my looks through one or _maybe_ two rose ceremonies, get a bit of name recognition for my fashion line, and then go back to Moscow.”

“Coast on your looks, huh?” Otabek says, sounding amused.

Yuri shrugs. “I’m really not an easy person to like.”

Otabek’s arms tighten around Yuri’s waist. “ _I_ found it easy,” he says, breath hot in Yuri’s ear. And, without even knowing he was holding back, Yuri twists around as best he can and crushes his lips on Otabek’s. If Otabek was surprised, he doesn’t show it, instead sliding his tongue against Yuri’s without missing a beat. Yuri breaks their kiss only to sit up straighter, to get a better angle at kissing him.

That _really_ doesn’t help him maintain any mental competency — Otabek looks just out of control as Yuri does, reaching forward like Yuri is a lifeline. “ _Fuck,_ ” Yuri mutters, kissing him again. Otabek’s hands make a mess of his artfully arranged hair, while Yuri slips his hands under his shirt. He slides one hand to his back, scraping his nails lightly across his skin, instantly rewarded with Otabek letting out a moan into his mouth.

“Just think of all that damage we’ll be able to do on that one-on-one,” Yuri whispers, pulling back for a second.

Otabek’s lips go to his neck. “Why the fuck do you think I sold my soul for it?” He laughs.

Yuri laughs too.

And they kiss until Mila interrupts them by sighing sharply. “You’re _outside_ ,” she snaps. “And you have a _flight_.”

“So?” he says, and Yuri snorts back a laugh.

“Yuri, come with me,” Mila says. “Minako will be out in about thirty seconds for you, Otabek.”

Yuri stands up, but Otabek grabs his hand, tugging him back down. Yuri leans all the way down, more than happy to prolong the moment as long as possible. For all that Mila is annoying, she’s got nothing on that claustrophobic hotel room — even if it is a _little_ better knowing he can drown himself in Guang Hong’s problems.

“I’ll see you in a couple days,” Otabek whispers, and he leans up and kisses Yuri softly.

“Jesus, Altin,” Yuri breathes.

“I’m glad we talked,” he says, even more softly.

Yuri straightens and runs his fingers through Otabek’s hair. “Me, too.” He can’t help but blush at that look Otabek is giving him — as though he wants him to stay as much as Yuri does. Yuri’s eyes sweep over him, noticing the way his shirt is bunched up, and Yuri barely holds back a laugh as he adds, “And fix your shirt.” Otabek blushes and tugs the fabric down with his free hand. Their eyes meet again, both of their faces still flushed, and Yuri sighs, “Well, have a good flight.”

Yuri has never experienced this before — a single second standing immeasurably still. Nothing significant but the little twist of a half-smile on Otabek’s lips, the hammering of his own heart in his ears. There’s the absolute, secure knowledge for the first time in a — very long and very horrible — week that he’s not alone in his feelings. Otabek lets go of his hand, finally, and the world kicks back into reality, and Yuri looks up to see a glare from Mila.

He matches it with a sour look and storms past her into the hotel, but only after brushing his hand on Otabek’s shoulder as he passes.

* * *

_Next week, on The Bachelor…_

_They’ve weathered their fair share of storms, but will they survive their own personal island?_

_One couple gets closer than ever, while another might just go down in flames. And will the final two-on-one tear a couple apart?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, to my best friend/beta/co-author Hannah! <3
> 
> Because I don't say it enough (and we would love for people to ask us anything!):  
> [My tumblr](http://bradley-martin.tumblr.com/)  
> [Hannah's tumblr](http://otabeksundercut.tumblr.com/)
> 
> We live and die for tswift's "reputation"
> 
> Seung-gil's art that he mentions is actually from a dream I had about Taylor Swift, where she stopped making music and instead had a mansion full of super immersive, vaguely creepy modern art. 
> 
> In case anyone cares, here's what they were up to in Sonoma:  
> [The hotel](https://www.macarthurplace.com/index.php)  
> [The winery](https://www.sonoma.com/businesses/14232/viansa-sonoma)  
> [The cliff diving adventure](https://www.outdoorproject.com/adventures/california/swimming-holes-cliff-jumping/middle-falls)
> 
> The next chapter should be out in late April. See you then!


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